


Help Me See The Light Of One More Day

by MistressofHappyEndings



Series: Outlaw Torn [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:39:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressofHappyEndings/pseuds/MistressofHappyEndings
Summary: The sequel to "Find Me in the Darkness".  Vasquez has a long road to recovery.  Fortunately, he has a lot of help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for all those who asked for a sequel. It'll be slow going, my friends, but bear with me, and we'll see where it goes!

Joshua Faraday gazed down at the trembling wreck of a man sheltered in his arms and shook himself with the turbulent jumble of anger, sorrow, and tenderness that threatened to overwhelm him. Gabe had seemed to know him a moment ago, not with words, but he had moved into his friend’s touch and started to calm down. Then something changed, a dark thought or unwise move or something else entirely, Josh didn’t know, and suddenly Gabriel's eyes scrunched tight as his sobbing grew stronger. 

How the hell was he supposed to bring his friend back from such a black place?

This _never_ should have happened. He never should have let the other man set off on his own. He never should have listened to Sam and the others when they said that Gabe was just running a little later than usual. He _should_ have been there to watch his best friend’s back.

The last he had seen of his Mexican friend, he had been hale and hearty, if a bit on the irritable side, though truthfully, all of them had all been a little stir-crazy. It had been a long, hard winter, and each of them had been eager to see something other than the inside of Jack’s cabin. 

It had become a tradition over the past five years they’d been together as the Seven to spend the winters holed up in the cabin Jack had originally built for his family. The tracker had surprised them all with his offer that first year. It had been late fall, and the seven of them had been huddled together around a table in a saloon in the ass-end of nowhere, trying to figure out their next move. Jack had spoken up in his high, creaky voice and told them that his family cabin was only a day and a half’s ride from their current location. He and Red Harvest had agreed that there was still time to lay in enough stores for the coming season, especially if they bought extra provisions before heading up the mountain. Not having any better ideas, the rest of his companions had agreed to his plan.

It was a big enough place to house them all without being too crowded. There was one great room that doubled as kitchen and living area dominated at one end by a fireplace. On either side of the fireplace was a small bedroom – one for Jack’s lost daughter and the other for his two sons. Above these rooms was another bedroom meant for Jack and his wife, the other room for storage. The cabin had needed a few minor repairs as Jack hadn’t been by the place for quite a few months, but he had built it to last. While Jack and Red Harvest had set about hunting and trapping, the rest of the Seven had repaired and cleaned up what they could.

After much prodding and encouragement by their host, Billy and Goodnight had claimed the daughter’s room with its single bed; Joshua and Gabriel had taken the boys’ room with the twin beds. Jack took the master bedroom, and Sam had taken the other space in the loft. Red Harvest had chosen to make himself at home on a pile of furs and blankets in front of the fireplace.

It had been quite a lesson in learning to live with others. The only one who had any experience with a mountain winter was Jack himself. The others had been quite unprepared, not just for the cold but also for the sheer monotony of the endless days and nights. Also, none of them were used to the lack of privacy such a closed space afforded, and there had been the inevitable flares of temper. It had been a test of Sam’s leadership to get them through those bitter months without any of them killing one of the others.

They’d eventually found ways to entertain each other and learned quite a bit about their new friends along the way. They’d had a story-telling competition over the course of seven nights – which Sam, of all people, had won. There had been the inevitable card games until the faces on Joshua’s cards had started to fade from so much handling. The few books that they’d owned between them were all read and re-read numerous times, sometimes out loud when Goodnight had felt theatrical. 

Red Harvest had eventually gotten frustrated enough with Joshua’s constant complaining about not understanding Gabriel when he spoke Spanish to demand that he shut up and just learn it already. This had led to the two of them retreating to their room and doing just that for a few weeks before Goodnight asked to be part of the lessons. After that, those that spoke languages other than English found themselves teaching the others on alternate days. None of them had become experts, by any means, but they had learned enough to make themselves understood.

They had also talked – a lot, more than any of them, even Joshua and Goodnight, were used to doing. A lot of it was just day to day stuff, but as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, the talk became more personal: 

Billy, they’d discovered, had a lovely singing voice, though it was damned difficult to convince him to grace them with a song. 

Gabriel had been the youngest of five children and the only son; Joshua was the only child of a widow. It had explained so much about their tempestuous relationship. 

Red Harvest had told them about how his mother had been his tribe’s medicine woman and how he had been training to take her place before the elders had come to him and told him that his path was to be a different one. 

Jack had revealed how he had met his wife, a beautiful but fierce Blackfoot woman who had saved his life from a cougar attack. 

Training horses had been the only thing a young Sam had wanted to do with his life in Kansas, but first the war and then Bogue had changed all that for him. It hadn’t kept from training his own horse to help in his bounty-hunting work, though. 

Goodnight, it had turned out, had quite a green thumb. Even through the roughest winters, he was able to keep all sorts of herbs alive to spice up their meals.

Despite all the bonding, it had not stopped any of them from being very happy to greet the spring thaw. As soon as it was safe enough for their horses, the Seven of them had saddled up and headed back for civilization. They had all scattered in different directions for a week or two, excepting Goody and Billy, before eventually meeting back up in the little town at the base of the mountain. From there, they had once again set about finding whatever trouble they could and ending it.

They had done the same this year, none of them thinking anything of it. But as two weeks became three and everyone but Gabriel had shown back up, the anxiety had gradually ratcheted up. Josh had been ready to go looking for his counterpart by the end of week two, but the others had convinced him to wait a few more days, figuring that the younger man had just needed to blow off a little more steam. 

It was a decision they were all regretting now.

It was to soothe himself as much as Gabe that Joshua began to slowly rock and croon soft nonsense into his friend’s ear. The other man responded by curling closer into the offered comfort, his fingers latching into Josh’s vest with all the weak strength he possessed, smearing blood across the dark fabric. The movement, slight as it is, caused the coat – his own coat, Joshua realized, the duster he wore in cold weather - tucked around his shivering body to slip down his chest. Joshua immediately reached to tug it back up around Gabe’s shoulders. As he did, he glimpsed the inside of the injured man’s elbow and stared. It was pockmarked with bruises and needle punctures.

A creeping horror threatened to overtake the gambler - for despite the scourge marks on the outlaw’s back and feet, the cuts and burns that littered his chest and arms, the cracked fingernails - these wounds were far more sinister. Joshua wasn’t a stranger to drugs, probably had more experience than Goodnight and Billy, if truth be told. The other prostitutes that shared the brothel with him and his mother had often turned to a variety of substances to make the horror of their daily lives easier. His mother, God rest her soul, had had the strength to resist such temptations, and she’d never let Josh partake either; but the ravages of such abuses were obvious even to a child. 

Jesus wept, Gabe didn’t need this, too!

Gabe’s whimpers grew sharper the longer Josh stared down at the exposed marks until the gambler gingerly wrapped the coat back around him. Once his injuries were again hidden, the outlaw settled deeper into Joshua’s embrace, rubbing his face against his guardian’s neck and breathing deep of the other man’s scent. Joshua started as he realized that the injured man was clean-shaven, something he’d never seen before. All of the Seven had some kind of facial hair, except Red Harvest, and for Gabe’s face to be so smooth now, he would have had to have been recently shaved. But why?

It was such an odd thing amongst all the blood and pain that, fascinated despite himself, Josh ran his fingers gently over the crest of one smooth cheekbone. Gabe hissed like an angry snake, rearing back as far as his injuries and Josh’s grip allowed to escape the curious touch. Joshua ceased immediately and gathered Gabe back to his chest, resting his cheek on top of the damp, dark curls, and resumed his rocking. 

“Sssh, I’m sorry, Gabe,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Ssh, I’ve got you, you’re safe now, you’re safe and no one is going to hurt you anymore. I’m never going to let you out of my sight again, _hermano._ ”

As the wounded man settled, Josh wondered angrily to himself, _Where in Satan’s own playground is everyone?_

He hadn’t heard any gunshots or shouting for a while, and he knew how worried everyone was about Gabe. It wasn’t like any of the Seven to stay away from one of their own when that one was injured, and he wanted to get Gabe to a doctor as soon as possible. With the open wounds on Gabriel’s back and elsewhere, the chance for infection was just too high for a gambling man like Joshua to lay odds against it.

While he seethed behind clenched teeth, Joshua’s gaze roved the room they were huddled in. After a few moments of restless looking, his breathing quickened as his focus sharpened on the various torture instruments littering the space. His eyes locked on a hook in the ceiling from which a pair of handcuffs linked by a short length of chain hung. A dark, damp stain pooled beneath it, and Josh’s imagination easily pictured Gabe swinging from that chain. Tall as he was, even Gabe wouldn’t have been able to touch the ground if strung up there, and he would be completely at the mercy of anyone else in the room.

Bleeding, screaming, helpless, _hopeless_ …

And that was just _it_ for Joshua. He couldn’t let Gabe stay in that room any longer – _he_ couldn’t stay there any longer. Doing his best to ignore Gabe’s soft cries at the jerky movements, Josh awkwardly shifted until he got his arms under his injured friend’s shoulders and knees and slowly stood. He didn’t know where he was going to take Gabe, but anywhere was better than here. His precious burden in his arms, Joshua staggered towards the exit.


	2. Chapter 2

“Santos and one of his Comanche scouts escaped.”

Sam’s statement was met with grim silence by the other three men. They stood together in the central room of an abandoned caretaker’s shack they had used as their base of operations before they invaded the ranch. Jack already knew this, as he had been the one to tell their leader, having tracked the fugitives for some miles outside the ranch before coming back to tell the news. 

Red Harvest and Billy remained stone-faced, but years of knowing the pair revealed their anger and disgust to their friends as easily as if they’d shouted it from the rooftops. Goodnight still hadn’t returned yet from attempting to locate a doctor on the sprawling estate. They’d heard rumors of one being a guest of Santos, and Sam hoped he hadn’t fled or been killed during the Seven’s raid.

“We can’t let them live,” Red Harvest said in his quiet, matter-of-fact way.

“And I don’t intend to,” Sam agreed. “I figured we make sure that Gabe was being taken care of properly then set off to track those two down. Josh will no doubt stay here with him, but I’d like at least one more to stay with them, for added protection.” 

Before any of them could volunteer or protest this notion, Goodnight burst into the room. A thunderous expression of rage and hatred twisted his face into such a terrible expression that not even Billy had ever seen it before. 

“Goody …”

The Southerner didn’t reply, just stalked over to the table and thumped the doctor’s bag he’s brought with him onto its rough-hewn surface. He stood with his back to the room for a long moment, both hands clenched tightly around the handle, and tried to settle his breathing. Billy slid up beside him and rested a cautious hand on his shoulder. Goody closed his eyes and breathed out a harsh breath through his nose, but he didn’t shake off the offered support.

“We won’t be receiving any aid from the good _doctor_ of this establishment except for the contents of this bag,” Goodnight grated out between clenched teeth. “I wouldn’t let that trash near a rabid dog, let alone a dear friend.”

“Goody …” Billy tried again.

“Stop, Billy, please, I just …” He sucked in another breath in a futile effort to find calm. Slowly, he pried his fingers away from the black bag and planted his fists instead on either side of it, bowing forward slightly over the table. “That – that foul excuse for a human being aided in the torture. He was here at Santos’s express invitation to provide that son of a bitch with suggestions on how to make Gabriel hurt more. He brought drugs to prolong the pain, to break Gabriel’s mind and to keep him compliant. The cruel irony is that we have him to thank for keeping Gabriel fed and the lack of any infection in his wounds. They didn’t want him to die before they could have as much _fun_ as possible.”

Silence reigned as the other men shared a look, one that was part surprise, part resignation. All of them were only too well aware of the cruelty of man to his fellows. 

“Where is he now, Goody?” Sam asked quietly.

Goody straightened and turned to face his oldest friend. His face was blank, but his eyes blazed with his fury and disgust. “Dead. Like I said, I wasn’t going to allow that cursed bastard anywhere near our Gabriel again.” 

“All right,” Sam allowed with a slight nod of his head. “All right. Is there anything else we need to know?”

“Yes,” the sharpshooter answered tightly. “The drugs they were using on him, they were nasty and addictive. He’s going to be suffering from withdrawal pretty soon.”

“Damn it all,” Billy swore at this. His dark eyes were haunted with past memories, and this time it was Goodnight who reached out to him to comfort. He visibly leaned into the touch, which told everyone present just how bad those memories must have been. “That could be worse that any wounds he has. He may not even want to make it through.”

“Yes, I do believe he will,” Jack countered with quiet conviction.

“I know we all want to believe that, Jack,” their leader said, taking off his hat and rubbing one hand wearily over his head, “but you heard Goody. You’ve seen the mess they made of Gabe. He’s been through so much already and then to pile all of this on top of it ...”

“And he’ll endure it all,” Jack murmured with the same conviction. “He won’t break Joshua’s heart.”

All the other men in the room paused at this statement because, when put like that, it was hard to dispute it. Joshua and Gabriel had become very close in the five years that they’d ridden together, as close as Billy and Goodnight, though they weren’t lovers. They were brothers in the truest and best sense of the word. It had been quite something to watch that bond grow, especially given how they had started out arguing and fighting at any given moment when they first met. Jack was right in that Gabe would now do anything to avoid hurting Josh, and the reverse was just as true - but this time … this time, he might not have any choice.

“I can help him,” Red Harvest offered quietly. 

The others turned to him with inquisitive looks. “Are you sure, son?” Sam asked. 

Over the years, they had all come to rely on Red Harvest’s medical skills. From gunshot wounds to fevers, the young man had healed them all, and the others of the Seven had come to trust his expertise over that of so-called “real” doctors. This, though, was something completely different from anything he’d been asked to deal with before.

Red Harvest took no offense to Sam’s question. “The white man isn’t the only one to lose their way through such poisons. My mother taught me how to help lost ones back to the right path. I will help Gabriel.”

“Then that’s your task,” Sam decided. “You do what you can for him, Red. I’m sure Josh will help you. Goody and Billy, I want you to stay here and guard the others. The townsfolk didn’t seem all that keen on the goings on at the ranch, but I don’t want to trust Gabe’s safety to their goodwill. Jack and I will go after Santos and his scout.”

Goodnight raised his eyebrows. “Just the two of you?” he asked, not happy about being left behind, though he understood Sam’s reasoning, but rightfully concerned about their welfare, too. “Are you sure that’s wise?” 

The sharpshooter watched as Jack and Sam faced each other. He saw the determined cold fire light up his old friend’s brown eyes and was reminded again of how persistent a predator the man could be. No bounty he had set out to capture had evaded him for long, and none who had tried to kill the warrant officer in turn had managed to do more than put holes in his hat.

He turned his eyes to Jack and nearly stumbled back from the pure savagery on the tracker’s face. Three hundred Crow warriors had died for the murder of the older man’s family. Now, Jack’s family had been attacked again, and two more dead men meant nothing if their deaths would keep them safe.

Out of all the Seven, these two were the masters of patient and dedicated vengeance. The two fugitives had no idea how utterly useless their flight was.

Goodnight felt his own long-dormant bloodlust rise in response to theirs, and a vicious grin creased his sharp features. “I withdraw the question. Happy hunting, gentlemen.”

Sam dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement then stepped towards the shack’s open doorway. “Jack, we should get going.”

The tracker raised a hand in a wait gesture. “I’d like to say good-bye to the boys before we leave,” he murmured.

“I’ll go get them,” Billy volunteered, slipping past Sam to rummage through his saddlebags. He came back up with a blanket and a canteen. “They’re probably wondering what happened to us anyway.” 

It didn’t take Billy long to cross the ranch to where Gabriel had been held captive. Paying more attention to the surrounding areas around and inside the building for a possible ambush, he was not expecting to nearly run Josh down in the doorway that led out of the torture chamber. The gambler had obviously not heard him coming, either, as he stumbled back into one of the low tables that were scattered about the room. It almost would have been funny, if he hadn’t been holding Gabriel in his arms and if he hadn’t been so badly startled as to try and reach for his guns. With his legendary grace and speed, Billy sprang forward to help Josh stabilize his hold, catching the injured man between their chests. Both men winced at Gabriel’s quiet cry of pain.

Joshua instantly turned his attention to the man in his arms. Settling into a seated position on the table, he ignored the way Billy followed his movements to keep Gabe close between them and freed the hand under Gabriel’s knees. He ran his fingers through the dark curls in soothing strokes, all the while quietly reassuring him that he wasn’t alone and that Joshua would take care of him. It took some time, but Gabe’s cries eventually quieted, and close as he was, Billy felt it when the wounded man relaxed in Joshua’s protective embrace.

“What have you got there, Billy?”

Billy jerked his head up from where he’d been studying Gabriel to find Josh’s green eyes fixed on him. Giving himself a quick mental shake, he whipped the blankets from his shoulder and tucked them lightly around Gabriel under his guardian’s watchful gaze. He then held up the canteen, tilting it questioningly.

“Think you can get him to drink some water?”

Joshua eyed the trembling man resting his lap and grimaced. He knew that Gabe needed the water, but trying to get him to do anything right now only seemed to cause him pain. He didn’t want to add to that, didn’t want Gabe to see him as someone who would hurt him. Closing his eyes briefly, he made his decision. Josh moved the hand from Gabe's head and reached out for the canteen. Billy helpfully opened it for him before handing it over.

Tilting Gabe’s head back a little against his arm, Josh drizzled a bit of the water over the bitten-at lips. At first, nothing happened, the water sliding unheeded down the seam of the tightly closed mouth to drip onto the blankets. Frowning, Josh tried again and then again, and was finally rewarded with Gabe’s tongue sliding out to capture the moisture. Murmuring words of encouragement, the gambler was able to get several mouthfuls of water into his charge before Gabe turned his face away. He handed the canteen back to Billy then used a corner of the blanket to pat Gabe’s face dry.

A gloved hand touched the gambler’s shoulder. “Josh?”

“Yeah, Billy?”

“Red Harvest and the others are setting up a room for Gabe in the caretaker’s shack. It’s not much, but it’s clean and it’s got a bed. You think you can carry him there or should I put together a stretcher?”

Joshua stroked a gentle hand over Gabriel’s sweat-soaked curls. “I got him, Billy.”

The former assassin nodded in acquiescence. If the situation were different, if it were Goodnight who was so badly hurt, Billy wouldn’t let anyone else carry him, either. Stepping back a few paces so that Josh had room to stand, Billy hesitated a beat then took off his hat. He set it carefully over Gabe’s head and tilted it to shade his eyes.

Josh raised his eyebrows at him. “What -?”

Billy shrugged. “It’s bright outside.”

Josh just shook his head at this explanation. Scooting to the edge of the table, he accepted Billy’s help in getting to his feet and made sure that his grip on Gabriel was secure before he followed the smaller man outside. He immediately squinted against the onslaught of the mid-morning sun. Billy said nothing, but he reached up to slant the brim of his hat down for him. Josh gave him a brief smile of thanks which the shorter man acknowledged with a nod. They crossed the distance to the shack in less than ten minutes. Billy held the door open and followed them inside. 

Joshua sensed something was wrong almost immediately. Goodnight looked like he wanted to kill someone with his bare hands, though he was trying hard to hide it behind a genial smile. Jack and Sam hid their rage a little better, but the same cold fire lit their eyes. Red Harvest stalked out of the bedroom behind them, his dark eyes fixing on the wounded man in Josh’s arms. Josh opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but before he could, Jack stepped up to them both.

Lifting the hat from Gabriel’s head, the tracker laid his hand on the younger man’s brow and began to murmur a quiet prayer over him. All of them stayed silent out of respect until Jack finished with a kiss to Gabriel’s forehead. He quickly did the same to Josh then he strode stiffly out the door. Josh was still blinking in surprise when Sam clapped him gently on the shoulder and trailed after Jack. 

“What the hell -?”

“It’s not important right now,” Goodnight interrupted. “Let’s get our Gabriel comfortable, shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

Shaking his head at the others’ antics, Josh muttered, “Yeah,” and followed Red Harvest into the bedroom beyond the main living area. 

The room was small with an old bed in the middle dominating most of it. Red Harvest and Josh barely had room to maneuver once inside, forcing Goody and Billy to wait outside for the moment. The bed had been made up with a hodgepodge of the Seven’s blankets and bedding long abandoned by the former occupants. It was no where near long enough for Gabe’s long frame, but someone had fixed that by shoving a weathered hope chest, presumably where the additional bedding had come from, against the foot of the bed and padding it with spare clothing. Sunlight from the small window opposite the door lit up a sorry excuse for a pillow propped against the headboard. 

All of it looked downright cozy compared to the room Gabe had been trapped in for weeks.

Standing beside the bed, Josh found himself hesitating, wondering how exactly he was going to get Gabe onto the bed without jostling him too much. Red Harvest solved the problem for him with outstretched arms and a few words.

“Give him to me.”

Josh flinched at the thought of relinquishing his charge and hunched protectively over the wounded man. The young native immediately took note of this. He lowered his arms slightly and gave him a stern look.

“Just for a few moments, _pabi_ ,” he said in his low, rough voice, “until you can make yourself comfortable. I will return him to you after.”

“Make myself comfortable?”

“Someone will have to hold him while I clean and bind his wounds. I think he would prefer it to be you.”

Josh regarded him for a long moment before he gently placed Gabe into Red Harvest’s momentary keeping. He stripped off his hat and gun belt, kicked off his boots, and sank down onto the sagging mattress. Arranging himself against the headboard, Josh looked up, ready to take Gabe back. He paused in his motions when he heard Red Harvest begin a low, rhythmic chant over the shivering man he held. His eyes were closed, his expression open as it rarely was. Gone was the stoic Comanche warrior. Instead, there was only a man pleading with his gods with heartfelt fervor on behalf of his fallen brother.

Josh almost found himself envious of Red Harvest’s faith, and Jack’s, too. He wished that he had someone to pray to, for Gabriel’s sake if not his own. Instead, he bent his head and whispered a few words to Lady Luck and hoped she would be compassionate.

A few moments later, Red Harvest finished his chant. Opening his eyes, he met Josh’s gaze with a small nod and carefully lowered Gabriel into the other man’s waiting arms. Between them, they arranged the wounded man onto his stomach, his head pillowed on Josh’s thigh and his body half-draped over Josh’s lap. Gently, they peeled away the blankets and jacket wrapped around his bleeding body. Goodnight, in the doorway behind them, gasped as the full extent of the outlaw’s injuries was revealed.

A hideous patchwork of deep, bloody welts stretched from Gabriel’s broad shoulders to the tops of his thighs. Half-healed cuts crisscrossed beneath the newer ones. His feet were a similar gory mess. Bruises stained the skin along his ribs and arms. Circling each wrist and ankle were cuts so deep that flashes of white peeked through, and the wing of one shoulder blade jutted from his body at an unnatural angle.

And these were only the injuries that could see on that side of his body.

“Dear sweet Jesus have mercy,” Goodnight pleaded softly.

Red Harvest turned abruptly and pushed his way past Goodnight and Billy into the next room. The two of them drifted through the space he left, Goody rounding the bed and perching on the mattress by Josh’s hip while Billy settled on the hope chest by Gabe’s feet. Both reached out to gingerly touch the suffering man in the bed, trying to offer what comfort they could.

After some moments of rustling and clanking in the other room, Red Harvest returned with several small leather pouches, a tin cup, and two bowls, one empty and one filled with steaming water. All these he set on the small wooden table beside the bed. Some of the water he tipped into the cup to make a tea. Into the rest of the water he mixed healing medicines as a wash for his patient’s raw back. Surveying the damage once more, the Comanche reached for the pain-numbing tea and held out the cup to the gambler.

Josh took the cup and tried to get his charge to drink some of the tea. Gabe wrenched his head away and made a noise that was part whimper, part growl and all denial. Josh immediately heeded the wordless plea. Gabe had had six weeks of other people deciding what his body was for, what should be done with it and how. Like hell was Josh going to take away choice from him now.

Goodnight obviously agreed with him. He leaned in over the bunched blankets to catch the injured man’s gaze. “Gabriel, are you sure you don’t want the painkillers?” The dark head nodded under Josh’s gentle fingers. 

“All right, then, you don’t have to take them,” Goodnight continued, ignoring the sharp look Red Harvest gave him. He gently pried open one of Gabriel’s clenched hands, careful of the cracked fingertips and raw wrist, and slid his own inside it. “Let’s try this instead. Squeeze as hard as you need to. Break my damn hand if you have to, _mon frère_. I won’t let go.”

The outlaw stared between his face and their joined hands, wary, weary, looking more like a trapped wolf than a man. Goodnight stayed still and let the younger man study his face for as long as he needed. Eventually, slowly, never taking his eyes from the Cajun’s pale blue pair, Gabriel dragged their joined hands across the sheets until he could tuck them both into the space under his chin.

“That’s right, Gabriel, that’s exactly right,” Goodnight crooned, kneeling down beside the bed so he could keep his eyes level with the other man. “Just keep your eyes on me and hold on. Red here will be done as fast as he can, and then you can rest.”

Red Harvest took that as his cue. Dipping a scrap of cloth into the herb-infused water, he began to dab away blood and sweat out of the scourge marks. Gabriel muffled whimpers against the back of Goodnight’s hand at each touch, his eyes squinting at the scrape and ache of it, but he held resolutely still against the fresh waves of pain. 

When he reached the small of Gabriel’s back, Red Harvest hesitated. He knew he had to continue, had to make his _pabi_ clean and whole, but going further might reveal something he didn’t really want to know. He drew in a deep, calming breath and moved the cloth further down the trembling body. He kept his eyes sharp for anything worse than blood to wash away.

After a short while of silent cleansing, Josh called softly from the head of the bed, “Red?” 

Red Harvest tilted his head towards the gambler in question.

“Is he – did they -?”

He should have known that Joshua’s own keen eyes would see what he was doing. The healer looked down at the body before him and cleared a bit more blood from the wounded skin. “No, Joshua. They did not.”

“thank you,” the gambler whispered, stroking his hand over Gabriel’s dark curls with gentle repetitiveness, “thank you, thank you.”

Red Harvest heard Goodnight and Billy echo the sentiment and sent his own silent gratitude to the Big Father. He finished bathing the torn flesh then turned back to the tools on the table. He opened one of the pouches and drew out a needle and thin strips of sinew.

“Goodnight, your flask.”

Goody fumbled one-handed in his coat pocket and handed over the flask. Red Harvest unscrewed the top and poured the contents into the second bowl he’d brought in. He thoroughly soaked the sinew threads in the alcohol then threaded the needle. He nodded a warning to the others and bent over the ribboned back.

Gabriel’s tenuous control broke when the stitching began. The Comanche tried to be quick, but Gabriel still flinched at every prick of the needle, broken little moans escaping him. His friends responded to his pain as best they could. Joshua carded the fingers of one hand through his sweat-matted hair, the other he rested on the back of Gabe’s neck as he started to softly hum. The bones in Goodnight’s hand ground together from the death grip Gabriel had on it, but his eyes never wavered from the bloodshot brown ones in front of him, his own quiet words of encouragement mixing with Josh’s humming. Billy laid one hand on Gabe’s calf, above the weeping wound around the ankle, and surprised them all by singing soft Korean lullabies.

Even so, by the time Red Harvest finished his stitching, the four of them felt just as sickened as Gabe looked. Their Mexican was shaking and panting on the bed, the crooked lines of stitches on his back standing out black against too-pale skin. Red Harvest murmured a few words and rested his hand briefly on the dark head before withdrawing to the main room to fetch more hot water for another tea. He returned in short order.

“This tea he must drink,” Red Harvest said quietly, holding the cup out to Joshua. “It will fight against fever and infection. It won’t make him sleep, though he needs that more than anything right now.”

Josh shared a grim, acknowledging look with the healer as he took the cup. He sniffed at it himself, grimacing at the sour-bitter smell. Nodding to Billy, the two of them gently rolled Gabriel into a semi-seated position so he could drink the concoction.

“Gabe, I need you to drink this,” Josh ordered gently. “It ain’t the best smelling stuff in the world, but …” He paused for a moment, knowing that Red Harvest was right and that their brother needed the medicine but also knowing that he couldn’t force this on Gabe even for his own good. He swallowed and continued, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Gabe, but you know Red wouldn’t give you anything bad. We just want you to get better, okay?”

The outlaw shifted his head against Josh’s collarbone to look up at him with eyes cloudy with shock and fever. Josh met his gaze with a hopeful look, but Gabe just closed his eyes and rolled his head back down. The gambler looked up helplessly at Red Harvest and Goody, but after a few long moments, Gabriel shuddered and reluctantly opened his mouth. Relieved, Josh carefully dribbled some of the tea into his mouth. Gabe was able to take a few sips before he started choking on it. 

Josh tossed the cup aside and hitched him up further to help ease his breathing, rubbing small circles against his chest in a hopefully soothing gesture. By the end of the fit, Gabriel had drawn himself up into as tight a ball as his injuries would allow and had once again buried his face in the gambler’s chest. A thin, keening wail escaped into Josh’s cotton shirt, but there was a ragged edge of defiance that kept him from finding any solace in unconsciousness.

Goodnight watched his younger friend struggle until he just couldn’t anymore. “Gabriel,” he murmured, running careful fingers over the crest of one bare shoulder. When the outlaw turned bruised, haunted eyes to him, Goodnight began to whisper. “Gabriel, it’s okay, just let go. You don’t have to fight anymore. We’re here, we’ve got you. No one’s going to lay a hand on you without going through us first.”

Gabriel shook his head at that and made a faint protesting noise, tensing in Joshua’s embrace as if to escape. Goodnight flattened his hand over Gabriel’s shoulder and gentled his voice further. “Easy, Gabriel, shh, easy. Please just let go. You’re safe, _ange_ , I promise, we’ll keep you safe. Neither of those bastards will ever touch you again, I swear it. Sssh, please, Gabriel, close your eyes and sleep.”

But the injured man refused to settle, and his cries of pain didn’t lessen despite Goodnight and Joshua’s best efforts. After a few moments of this, as silently as he did everything else, Red Harvest reached out and placed one hand over the juncture where Gabe’s neck met his shoulder and squeezed. Gabriel stiffened for a moment then slumped into Joshua’s arms.

“What the hell did you just do?” Josh demanded, hugging his charge protectively closer.

Red Harvest gave a little shrug. “He needs sleep to heal, and I’m not done yet with his injuries. Easier for him if he is unconscious.” He didn’t need to add how it would be easier on the rest of them as well. He looked steadily at the gambler. “I didn’t hurt him, Joshua.”

Josh glared for a moment longer then ducked his head sheepishly. “I know you didn’t. M’sorry, Red, it’s just …” He looked down at Gabe and found he couldn’t finish his sentence.

The young native curved his palm around the back of Josh’s neck and gave him a little shake. “I know, _pabi_. It is the same for me. For us all. But for now, let us use this time to care for his wounds while he is unaware.” He released Josh and turned to the foot of the bed where Billy kept silent watch. “I could use your help.”

“Anything you need,” Billy replied.

Red Harvest split the medicinal supplies between the two of them, and together, they worked patiently to clean, salve and bandage the remainder of Gabriel’s wounds. It seemed to take forever to finish the task. The water basins had to be changed multiple times as the water turned rusty, and Goodnight had to root around in the hated doctor’s bag to find enough cloth to serve as bandages. To make things more difficult, the injured man didn’t stay unconscious throughout their ministrations. 

The first time, Gabriel bolted from unconscious so abruptly that he threw Goodnight, who had risen to sit beside him on the bed, to the hard wood of the floor. Only Billy’s instinctive grip on his legs gave Josh enough time to grab Gabe before he followed Goody over the side of the bed. The outlaw fought against them so hard, spitting and snarling at his captors with bared teeth, that he ripped open a few of his stitches before Red Harvest was forced to employ his little trick once again to put him to sleep. 

The second time was much the same as the first as they put his shoulder back into its socket, but the third time he woke was even worse. Gabriel didn’t startle awake, just opened his eyes and stared dully at his wrist while Red Harvest wrapped it up in clean bandages. He didn’t protest when the healer set his hand back into Goodnight’s gentle grasp, but his fingers only lay limp in the older man’s palm. He didn’t react when Goody began to massage his hand or when Red Harvest started cleaning the numerous cuts and burns that trailed up his arm, either. Instead, he turned to rub his face against Josh’s stomach, took several slow, deep breaths, and slipped back into unconsciousness without a sound.

They were able to turn him over to take care of the injuries on the front of his body without waking him a third time. There weren’t as many to treat there, but one wound stood out amongst all the others. Located on Gabriel’s lower right side, it wasn’t that large, and mostly healed as it was, it wasn’t an infection threat. But each of them knew what it was and what it meant even before Red Harvest spoke.

“Arrow.”

The healer ran his fingers gently over the scarring flesh then withdrew as he clenched his hand into a fist. This was the first wound Gabriel had received, the one that had incapacitated him and had delivered him into Santos’s hands. They had found blood and pieces of leather in the trampled grass beside the body of Gabriel’s horse, Diego. Jack had theorized that one of Santos’s pet Comanche scouts had shot Gabriel clean off his horse while the other had quickly bound him and tossed him over the back of a packhorse. The fact that it was two of his own tribe that had done this to his family still infuriated him.

The native healer forced himself to relax his hands. He had avenged his brother with the death of one of the scouts; he knew that Jack and Sam wouldn’t rest until the last two were equally dead. He would have to content himself with that and turn his focus back to where it properly belonged now. On Gabriel.

The rest of the salving and bandaging went relatively quickly. Once done, Red Harvest and Billy shifted Gabriel back onto his stomach and covered him with a blanket. Gabriel almost seemed to wake again before Joshua quieted him with gentle touches and quiet words. He curled around the gambler’s solid frame and settled back down into a deeper sleep.

Knowing that this was just a brief respite before the real hell began, Joshua rested a hand on one of Gabriel’s shoulders and demanded lowly, “All right, now will someone tell me what the hell is going on? Where’d Sam and Jack take off to? Why’s Red takin’ care of Gabe instead of some doctor,” he shot a grateful look up at the healer, “not that I’m objecting to that at all, I think you’re a much better choice than some stranger puttin’ his hands all over Gabe. And why did it take you all so long to come get us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Google, _pabi_ is Comanche for "older brother". Also, _mon frère_ is French for "my brother" and _ange_ for "angel". I think that covers the foreign language portion for this chapter.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all the wonderful people who have commented, bookmarked and sent kudos for this story so far. Y'all are what keeps me writing when the muse is being frightfully stubborn!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but RL is not being kind right now. I _might_ have taken that out on the poor boys ... enjoy!

After a considering glance at the other two men in the room, Billy took it upon himself to answer his questions. Red Harvest stepped out of the room with his hands full of pouches and bowls while Billy told the gambler about Santos and the scout’s escape and how Sam and Jack had decided to go after them. About the doctor and his role in Gabriel’s torture … and how Goody had put an end to that monster, at least. Josh turned a concerned look at the Southerner at this revelation.

“You okay with that, Goody?”

The sharpshooter met his look with an unapologetic gaze of his own that softened a bit at the genuine worry in the other man’s green eyes. It was true that he preferred not to take lives to keep quiet the owl that stalked him still, and the other Seven have respected that. But this time, for this reason, he was more than willing to risk the night bird’s wrath to protect his own. “More than you know, Joshua.”

Josh searched his face a few moments longer then accepted his statement with a small nod. Billy finished his summary of events with a few more terse words and a wave of his hand at Gabriel’s right arm. A neat, white bandage circled not only the injured man’s wrist but his elbow as well. Josh trailed his fingers gently over the cloth.

“Josh, do you know what those marks mean?” Billy asked quietly.

“Yeah,” the gambler answered just as quietly, curling his hand protectively around the abused flesh. “I saw this growin’ up. Some of the workin’ girls that lived in the whorehouse with my ma did this deliberately to themselves. When the bastard of an owner sold out to an equally as evil bastard, he decided to clean up the place, and that included the girls. Any one of them that was takin’ something, he locked up in separate rooms until they either died … or they didn’t. The ones that survived the experience weren’t the same after.”

“How old were you …?” Goody asked.

Josh shrugged. “Around fourteen, I guess. Don’t rightly recall.”

“Dear God.”

Josh shook his head against the pity in Goodnight’s tone. “Past is in the past, Goody. Ain’t nothing to what Gabe’s goin’ to be goin’ through. We need to make sure that he don’t end up the same as those girls. We got any idea how to help him?”

“Red does.”

As if summoned, the healer came back into the room at that moment, one hand wrapped around the strap of a medium-sized leather bag slung over his shoulder. “I do not have everything I need for Gabriel,” he announced, sounding peeved at himself for not being as thoroughly prepared as he usually was, “but what I am missing grows in grasslands like these. It should not take me long to find them.”

“I’ll go with you,” Billy volunteered. He smoothed his hand down Gabriel’s blanketed calf once then rose gracefully to his feet, adjusting his knife belt in an absent-minded way. “You can tell me what to look for, and we can get it done twice as fast.” He turned to Goody and Josh. “You two going to be all right?”

Before either man could answer, Gabriel stirred uneasily beneath his blanket, his legs kicking spastically as a distressed little whine breathed out past his lips. Joshua instantly began whispering words of reassurance to his injured brother as he stroked a soft line from behind Gabe’s ear down to the cap of his uninjured shoulder. Gabe relaxed in gradual increments under his _hermano’s_ touch, but Goodnight could feel the restless twitch in the outlaw’s fingers, could see the sweat beading along his hairline. He clutched his hand just the tiniest bit tighter around Gabriel’s and looked to the two men in the doorway. 

“Hurry.”

The pair vanished into the next room before he’d finished the last syllable, the sound of the door opening and closing following almost immediately after. 

“ _Damn_ it.”

Goodnight reached out his free hand at the softly anguished oath and curled it around Joshua’s upper arm in silent support. There was nothing he could say that Joshua didn’t already know or would want to hear. No matter how fast Red Harvest and Billy accomplished their mission, no matter what kind of potions and teas their youngest would be able to brew up to ease Gabriel’s suffering, it didn’t negate the fact that the next few days were going to be an absolute misery. All they could do now was support each other and pray that Gabriel was strong enough – and willing enough – to pull through. 

***

Sam tipped back his hat to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. His horse absently stamped one foot to dislodge some flies as they both waited for the old tracker to finish reading the signs of passage in the dirt before them. The setting sun shone down hot on the pair, but the warrant officer was willing to be as patient as he had to be in order not to lose their prey.

Having started their chase late in the day, Sam knew that they would soon be forced to stop for the night before continuing the pursuit. The delay would chafe, but neither of them would truly begrudge the time - not after the hard lessons learned while trying to find Gabriel in the first place. Despite Jack and Red Harvest’s exceptional skills in tracking, Santos’s two native accomplices were equally as skilled in misdirection and evasion. More than once, the false trails the two enemy warriors had set had caused the rest of the Seven to veer off in the wrong direction, sometimes for miles, before either Jack or Red Harvest or on one occasion, Sam himself, had corrected their course. 

It had been frustrating and infuriating then, and neither man wanted to repeat those mistakes now. Donaldo Santos and his unnamed scout could not be allowed to escape justice in the vast wilderness of the West. Sam refused to let this become Bogue all over again.

Sam tilted his head toward Jack as the older man rose to his feet and dusted off his knees. “Good?”

Jack nodded as he swung back into his saddle. “Still on the right path, not more than a few hours ahead of us at most. If we ride hard enough, and don’t get thrown off track, we should be able to catch up with them by tomorrow afternoon.”

A grim smile flitted briefly across Sam’s face as he touched the reins to spur his horse into following after Jack. The sooner they could catch up, the sooner they could take care of the fugitive pair, and the sooner they could get back to what mattered most. The last thing he had wanted to do was leave someone as hurt as Gabriel behind. He had no doubts about the others taking the very best care possible of their wounded brother, but Sam wanted to be a part of that. 

No, not wanted to – _needed_ to. It had been his suggestion to wait a little longer for Gabriel to return all those weeks ago. He needed to be part of the healing, to atone in some way for the delay his actions had caused. The younger man deserved that much and more from him.

“I’m going to need you to stop that.”

Jack’s distinctive voice drew him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Pardon?”

“You and Joshua. Both of you going around thinking that what was done to Gabriel is your fault.” Sam couldn’t help a small flinch at the older man’s perceptive words. “It isn’t. The only one at fault here is Santos and those loyal to him, and you and I are going to take care of that soon enough.” Jack shifted in his saddle enough so that he could look Sam straight in the eyes and repeated firmly, “It’s not your fault. And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it, Sam Chisholm. Joshua, too, once we get back.”

“Jack –”

The tracker held up a hand to halt his words, his gaze unwavering in its intensity. “No, Sam. You can’t keep thinking like that, or the guilt will eat you alive. Let it go. Focus on what you can do now instead of what’s already happened. Gabriel needs us to be strong, not wallowing in might-have-beens. We both know how dangerous a path that is.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest more then slowly shook his head and chose to remain silent instead. Jack was right - he did know how dangerous a path it was. Four of his current family, including the man before him now, had nearly died five years ago because of his guilt over not being able to save the family he’d been born into. He couldn’t do that again. He didn’t think he’d get – or deserve – a third chance at a family if he lost this one, too.

“I’ll try, Jack.”

“That’s all I can ask, Sam.” He reached out and clapped his companion lightly on the arm. “C’mon then, let’s get going. We got some killers to catch.”

***

It truly hadn’t take much time at all for Red Harvest and Billy to return with the plants the young healer needed, but it had been long enough for things to go from bad to worse in their little makeshift sickroom. As they crossed the threshold of the cottage, both men could hear the sounds of struggle and pain and the strained efforts to soothe that pain. The two shared a swift, silent look before Billy headed for the back room. Red Harvest spread the results of their search on the low, wooden table in the main room to begin his preparations.

The sight that greeted Billy was just as bad as it had sounded. Gabe thrashed wildly against Josh and Goody’s restraining hands, his own hands alternately clamped over his ears to block out their attempts to soothe or clumsily striking out. The blankets were a churned up mess tangling around his body and trapping him further, which just made him fight all the harder, his eyes rolling with pain and terror. The worst part, though, was how silently he fought. They all knew he could make noise, he had done so only a few hours before, but right now not a sound escaped him. Billy hadn’t seen something this horrifying since his young adulthood.

Shaking himself out his momentary stupor, Billy surged towards the bed. He skidded to one knee at the bedside just as Gabe tore free of the other two men and scrambled for the edge. Only the assassin’s quick reflexes enabled him to catch the terrified man as he pitched over the side, driving them both back into the wall in an awkward sprawl of arms and legs. Billy struggled to gulp in enough air even as he wrapped his arms around the naked, trembling body of his brother to prevent further escape attempts. 

Gabe writhed briefly in the older man’s arms before going suddenly and terrifyingly limp. Billy squashed the panic that tried to rise as he wriggled as much as he could under the other man’s long-limbed bulk to a sort of upright position. He froze when he felt tentative fingertips graze the corner of his eye. He craned his neck a fraction to find Gabe squinting up at him. There was no recognition in the look and no fear, either, only an air of puzzlement as he slowly traced his fingers under Billy’s dark, almond-shaped eye. He repeated the caress twice more, following the invisible line his fingers drew in an almost trance-like fashion, before letting his hand fall back onto his bandaged chest. Gabe blinked once at the astonished gaze staring down at him before exhaustion tugged his own dark eyes shut into another restless bout of unconsciousness.

“What the hell was that all about?” Billy demanded as softly as he could without disturbing the man in his lap.

Josh crawled down from the bed to their side and shook his head, just as mystified as Billy. He carefully hooked his hands under Gabe’s shoulders and lifted him enough for the smaller man to slide free of his pinning weight. Together, the two of them managed to get the injured man back onto the bed and positioned him once more against the long lines of Josh’s body. Gabe sighed quietly once they stopped moving him about and instinctively burrowed a little deeper into the warmth and comforting scent of his best friend.

Goody’s face, though, spasmed with sorrowful wrath at the question before he forced it smooth. “Neither of you met the doctor,” he muttered as he gathered up the crumpled blankets from the floor to tuck once more around Gabriel’s curled form. He waited until he had meticulously performed this task before continuing, “He was a big man, almost as big as Joshua here, and from the South, Georgia or the Carolinas if I had to guess. I imagine in his current state, Gabriel confused the pair of us for that trash.”

“You, though, _mon couer_ ,” Goody added with a soft look at his better half, “neither look nor sound anything at all like him. You gave our Gabriel something else to focus on for a bit, and it’s a good thing, too. Lord knows what kind of injury he’d have done to himself if you hadn’t come in right then.”

Since arriving in America as a youth, Billy had never had a reason to be grateful for his exotic appearance except for the pleasure it brought Goodnight. His face and speech normally only inspired hatred and violence. It was a little tough to wrap his head around, but if he could somehow use his differences to bring a little peace to the man laid out before him, he would gladly use the advantage.

The assassin gave Goody a slight smile in acknowledgement of his _yeobo’s_ words then turned towards the door at the sound of approaching footsteps. He quickly got to his feet to relieve Red Harvest of some of the many items he’d brought with him. The little wooden nightstand and a sliver of the bed not occupied by Josh and an increasingly agitated Gabriel was soon covered with cups and bowls, medicines and bandages once more. 

Once he had everything arranged to his satisfaction, Red Harvest reached out to rub his thumb in small circles against Gabriel’s temple. Another trick he’d learned from his mother to calm patients, it lessened some of the wounded man’s agitation but didn’t make it disappear completely. Sweat slicked his entire body, soaking through the blankets in some places, hints of red blossoming over his back and shoulders. Little tendrils of his dark hair were stuck to his forehead, and his eyes fluttered incessantly back and forth behind his eyelids. Any minute now, whatever solace Gabriel found in sleep would be shattered and all of Red Harvest’s healing skills would be put to the test.

Face hardening in resolve, the native healer raised his eyes to the others watching him anxiously. “Now, we begin the hardest battle we have ever fought,” he announced with grim certainty, “and this one we must not lose. Are you ready, my brothers?”


	5. Chapter 5

It took two days instead of the predicted one for Jack and Sam to catch up to the fugitives. Despite Jack’s best efforts, the scout had managed to deceive him twice, causing them to have to backtrack. Retracing their steps fortunately hadn’t taken as long as before, so the hunting pair was able to close the distance fairly quickly.

They had their targets in their sights, but now they were in a race with a different foe. Dark, roiling clouds and strobes of lightning had burst over the top of the mountain all four were rushing towards, and the pursuers knew they had to catch up before the deluge hit or risk losing their quarry forever. Spurring their horses to greater speed, the two men unconsciously leaned forward in their saddles as if they could reach Santos and his man that much faster through willpower alone.

As the distance between them shrunk, Sam cursed under his breath as the pair in front of them split up, Santos veering to the left and the scout the right, both men disappearing into the rocky hills at the base of the mountain. With a single glance between them, Sam took off after Santos while Jack pursued the Comanche.

The promised rain started to fall just as the warrant officer reached the rocks. He swung out of the saddle, leading his horse with one hand while he studied the ground for Santos’s tracks. His sharp eyes quickly picked out a faint trail winding further up into the hills, and he pulled his revolver before he cautiously moved forward. 

The storm broke the higher Sam climbed. The rain came down just hard enough to make the rocky ground treacherous and tracking nearly impossible, forcing him to rely on instincts honed through years of bounty-hunting instead of any concrete proof as to his prey’s movements. He eventually had to leave his horse behind when the track he was following tapered off into an angle too steep for the beast to negotiate. Slipping his rifle from the saddle holster, Sam warily continued his upward trek alone.

A brief swish of sound was Sam’s only warning before a sharp pain sliced low across his left side. With a stifled grunt, he threw himself to the ground and shimmied his way through the mud to hide behind a nearby boulder. A moment later, another arrow bounced off his meager shelter mere inches from his face, and a fierce Comanche battle cry pierced the air.

_Well, damn_ , Sam thought as he shuffled further back into the shelter of the stones surrounding him. He hadn’t expected to be facing off with the dangerous scout. It wasn’t often that he was surprised by someone he was running down, but somehow, he felt he shouldn’t be shocked this time. Santos and his men had proven to be far wilier than any other opponent the Seven had faced in their five years together; Sam would even go so far as to say they were even better than anyone he’d tracked in all his years of as a warrant officer. Over the sounds of an angry Mother Nature, the distinct sound of gunfire thundered from further along the hillside, and Sam had to believe that Jack could deal with his own surprise with his usual brutal efficiency.

Another arrow shot through a narrow gap in his hiding place, taking a piece of his shirt with it. “Samuel Chisholm!” the scout’s accented voice echoed from the rocks and rain around him. “My name is Black Knife. Your men killed my brother, Silent Storm. You destroyed my home, and now you chase us down like dogs. For this, I will send you to join your ancestors.”

Sam bared his teeth as he cocked his revolver and took a few quick shots in the direction he thought the voice had come from. “Then you shouldn’t have taken my brother, Black Knife,” he countered in Comanche. “Yours might still be alive if you had just left Gabriel Vasquez alone.”

An incoherent cry of rage followed his words, and another arrow whistled past his head, followed swiftly by another. Sam smiled to himself in grim satisfaction. An angry enemy was a sloppy enemy, and now he knew exactly where Black Knife was. He holstered his revolver, reaching for the rifle instead. Wiping the rain from his eyes, Sam took careful aim at the rocks above him and squeezed the trigger.

A bitten off curse and a trickle of pebbles followed the report of the rifle. Sam tracked the sound and fired again. Silence answered this shot, and the warrant officer strained all his senses to find some hint of the native scout’s location. He got his answer in the form of another Comanche war cry and two hundred pounds of solid-built man slamming into him from behind. 

The hit sent both men tumbling through the mud as Sam struggled to keep Black Knife’s tomahawk from cleaving his skull to pieces and his blade from plunging into his gut. Sam soon felt his grip slipping against the other man’s rain-slick flesh. Black Knife’s lips twisted in a feral snarl of triumph as he pressed the advantage of youth and surprise on his older opponent.

But Sam hadn’t lived this long without learning a few tricks, and with a quick jerk of his hips, managed to reverse their positions. He got in a few solid punches to the other man's face and knocked the knife from his grip before Black Knife threw him off to one side. Sam scrambled gracelessly to his feet, kicking at the discarded knife to move it further away from the warrior. He reached for his own gun as the other man rose up only to spot it on the ground behind Black Knife. He straightened, hands falling to his sides, as the scout slowly advanced on him with the tomahawk brandished. 

The two of them circled each other as the rain came down harder and made the ground even more treacherous for both men. Black Knife feinted several times, almost playfully, driving Sam back towards a rock wall, obviously thinking he had the upper hand against his unarmed opponent. Sam let him, jumping back just out of range of the tomahawk, luring the other man closer, then closer still until the Comanche warrior was practically on top of him. Then, with a move almost as swift as his quick draw, Sam reached behind himself, drew twin blades hidden in black sheaths at the small of his back, and plunged both deep into either side of Black Knife’s ribcage. 

The whole action was so smooth and so quick, that it took Black Knife a full ten seconds to realize that he had been hit. He stared down at the hilts protruding from his sides in disbelief then back up into Sam’s impassive face. 

“How?” he gasped, blood bubbling up from his lungs and spilling past his lips. He crashed to his knees as thunder crashed above them. “Y-you are not the knife-wielder. Y-you use guns.”

“True,” Sam acknowledged. “Doesn’t mean I can’t learn.”

Black Knife opened his mouth to say more, but nothing but a wet gurgle came out. The warrior feebly stabbed his knife at Sam in one last futile gesture before he toppled over into the mud. He twitched once then fell still. 

Sam nudged the body with the tip of his boot then crouched down to retrieve his knives. He wiped the blades clean on the dead man’s vest then slowly straightened to his full height. He was going to owe Billy and Red a thank you when he got back. They had insisted on the knives, pointing out that he was the only one of their group who didn’t have a back-up weapon. Once he’d accepted the blades, they’d then insisted on training him in their use. Today had been the first time he’d had to put those lessons to use. 

“You all right then, Sam?” 

Sam studied Jack from under the brim of his dripping hat. The tracker looked a little worse for wear, a trickle of blood starting behind his left ear and soaking into his collar, and he looked like he’d rolled in about as much mud as Sam himself, but otherwise he seemed whole. His eyebrow twitched a bit at the sight of a fresh scalp hanging from the older man’s belt but decided to let it pass without comment. If he were a little less civilized himself, he might be tempted to take a similar trophy. As it was, a savage feeling of satisfied vengeance coursed through him, and he didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry for it.

“I’m fine,” Sam finally answered. He gave lie to that statement the next moment when he bent to pick his gun from the ground. He let out a surprised grunt, and his hand jumped to his side. In the rush of trying to stay alive, he’d forgotten about the arrow wound creasing the flesh below his ribs. His fingers came away red.

“Yes, I can clearly see that,” Jack retorted with the same righteous sarcasm he used with the younger members of their company. Sam shot him a disgruntled look, but he didn’t resist as Jack caught him under one elbow and steered him away from Black Knife’s corpse. “I saw a cave back a little ways. It’s big enough for us and the horses, too. We can wait out the storm there and get you patched up.”

If he were Joshua or Billy, he might have obstinately insisted on gathering the horses and heading back to the rest of the Seven right then. And though he really wanted to get back to Gabriel and the others, so much so that it was like the most visceral of instincts screaming at him to leave _now_ and protect his family, Sam knew it would be better to let the weather clear up and to tend their wounds while they had the chance. Neither of them had slept but for a handful of interrupted hours, either, and most of those in the saddle. Some decent sleep and a hot meal or two, and they would be able to return without the threat of one or both of them getting sick on the way back. So, reluctantly, he nodded his acquiescence and allowed himself to be led away.

Their horses were huddled together at the very spot where Sam had left his earlier. A third horse stood with them, a magnificent looking paint, still saddled. Sam recognized it immediately as one of the two horses they’d been chasing over the past few days. He shot a questioning look at Jack.

Jack shrugged with one shoulder. “Only seemed fair that Gabriel gets another horse after they killed Diego, and this one seems a likable beast despite its former master. If he doesn’t want it, we can always sell it or set it loose later.”

Sam couldn’t fault his logic, and soon, all of them were safely sheltered in the cave Jack had found. The pair of them stripped the horses of the tack they were wearing and fed them some of the oats they carried. They then set about trying to get a fire started with wet wood. Jack managed that miracle somehow without too much smoke, and Sam put together a simple meal of beans and pork. While it was cooking, the tracker gestured for his companion to unbutton his shirt.

“Another inch, and that arrow would have been stuck in your side instead of just grazing you,” Jack pronounced as he dabbed at the wound with a kerchief soaked in whiskey. “Bleeding’s slowing down, though, that’s good. I don’t think you’re going to need stitches, but I do want to bind it up. You sit still, and I’ll be right back”

Sam watched with a bemused expression as the older man got up to rifle through his saddle bags. Ever since they’d spent their first winter at his cabin, Jack had become downright fatherly in his attitude towards all of them. Granted, their three youngest got the most of his parental attention, which was good, because all three of them needed it; but Goody, Billy and Sam were sometimes ambushed by Jack’s nurturing side, too, and none of them, even their assassin, kicked up too much fuss when it happened. It was nice, sometimes, to be looked after, and it made Jack happy. It was enough of a reason to let it go.

Once Sam was bandaged up to Jack’s satisfaction, he buttoned his shirt back up and went back to tending their dinner. They ate it in companionable silence once it was done, and Sam took their few dishes outside to clean them when they were finished. He lingered a bit at the mouth of the cave, staring out into the stormy evening, feeling the stresses of the past few days settling like poison into his muscles. The toughest fights always left him like this. After Rose Creek, he’d been stiff and sore for days, though he was able to hide it behind helping the townsfolk rebuild and watching over their wounded brethren. Only after all four of them had opened their eyes, and the doctor had declared them out of the woods, that Sam had finally been able to relax enough to move and sleep properly.

That wasn’t likely to be the case tonight. Black Knife and Santos were dead, true, and no longer a threat to Gabriel or anyone else; but Gabriel was a three-day ride away from him, and the Good Lord alone knew how badly he was suffering right now. He trusted the other to care for him to the best of their abilities, which, honestly, was probably better than the best doctor San Francisco could offer. He _did_. He just wished he was there to help them, and Sam knew he wasn’t going to rest easy or well until he could see Gabriel with his own eyes and know him to be healing.

Sighing to himself in quiet resignation, Sam gathered up the dishes and headed back inside. Jack had made himself comfortable on the cave floor, low snores rumbling from beneath his hat-covered face. Well, at least one of them would be getting some sleep tonight. The dark man smiled at the sound as he put away the cooking utensils. His eyes flickered over the third saddlebag propped beside his own. Santo’s saddlebag. Knowing sleep wasn’t likely, Sam decided to go through the bags for something to do. 

At first, he found nothing of interest, just the normal things anyone would travel with – extra food and clothes, ammunition and a revolver, a full flask of whiskey. It wasn’t until he started digging through the left bag that he found something of worth. Inside were ten leather-bound notebooks, tied together with packaging string. Sam cut the string and opened the top volume to discover page after page of neat but cramped handwriting and amazingly detailed sketches. A sharpened pencil fell from the pages. 

Scooping up the pencil and the stack of notebooks, Sam drew closer to the fire and began to read.


	6. Chapter 6

Josh pushed the door to the shack open with a little frustrated shove. He’d been forced by nature’s call to momentarily abandon Gabe, and though it was nothing that could be helped, he still didn’t have to like it. Here and now, his place was at Gabe’s side, his own needs be damned. 

This in mind, Josh intended to head straight back into the bedroom to resume his vigil when his attention was reluctantly caught by the other two men in the room. Red Harvest stood above a seated Goodnight, who held out his left hand in an awkward manner for the younger man to inspect. Despite himself, Josh crossed the room in a few quick strides to see what was going on.

“Jesus, Goodnight,” the gambler breathed when he was close enough to see the hand in question. “There’s no way that ain’t broken.”

Violet and blue darkening into shades of black, Goody’s left hand was a mass of finger-shaped contusions. During the past few days and nights of Gabe’s fight against the drug withdrawal, Goodnight had consistently offered the wounded man his hand to use as an anchor against the relentless waves of pain crashing over Gabe’s abused body. Josh had seen the tiny grimaces and heard the soft, hastily repressed grunts coming from the older man when they kept joint watch, but he’d had no idea that it was this bad.

Goody’s lips twitched in a tired half-grin. “Prob’ly in several places,” he agreed, “but don’ you fret, _chèr_. It’ll heal. ‘Til den, well, at least it’s not my trigger finger, _non_?”

Josh just shook his head, both at Goody’s dismissive attitude and the thick Cajun accent. In an attempt to distance himself from the dreaded doctor in Gabe’s nightmares, the sharpshooter had begun adding more of a bayou cadence to his speech rather than his more typical lazy drawl. He’d gotten so stuck in that pattern that he spoke that way to all of them, not just Gabe. It worked with moderate success with the injured man, but now Josh had even more trouble understanding what the hell the man was saying than he did on an average day.

Red Harvest snorted a bit at the older man’s words as he wrapped Goodnight’s hand in clean bandages. Josh narrowed his eyes at him as he bent to his task. The leather vest Red Harvest wore parted slightly with his movement to reveal his own set of colorful bruises.

“How’re your ribs, Red?” Gabe had managed to land a powerful kick to the young native’s side during one of his more panicked attacks while Red Harvest had attempted to knock him out with his neck trick again. He’d actually gotten off lucky. The force of the blow had knocked him to the floor, and his head narrowly missed the corner of the hope chest on his way down.

The healer shrugged with one shoulder and countered, “How is your neck?”

Josh’s hand rose involuntarily to cover the red and purple marks circling his throat. Those bruises he had no one but himself to blame for, but he didn’t regret a single one, anymore than Red Harvest or Goody.

No sooner had Red Harvest made his pronouncement of battle than the outlaw’s condition had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. Gabe’s eyes had sprung open, only the thinnest rind of brown surrounding the blackness of his pupils, before he’d loosed a scream of such terror that all of his caregivers had frozen in sympathetic fear. His poor, scored heels had scrambled against the mattress until he’d hit the headboard with a dull thud, frantically pressing his shoulders into the wood behind him. He’d thrown up one hand in a warning gesture and babbled a command at them in harsh, garbled Spanish. None of them understood the words, but his meaning had been very clear.

Josh hadn’t been able to leave him like that. Moving slowly, so very slowly, he’d angled his body towards the terrified man and cautiously extended his own hand to him, speaking in the low tone he usually reserved to calm his spitfire of a horse when Jack got spooked. Gabe had coughed out another warning, this time accompanied with a tearful, pleading tone, heels still scraping against the mattress despite his back being as hard pressed into the wall behind him as it could possibly get. He had to be hurting like hell, but his fear had been so great that the pain hadn’t seemed to register. 

Swallowing, Josh had continued forward, despite Gabe’s protests. The gambler had pushed himself up to sit level beside him, his chest constricting at the intensity of fear embedding itself on Gabe’s angular features. He’d caught a sloppily thrown punch between his two hands and tugged until Gabe’s hand was pressed flat above the thudding of his own heart, threading his fingers through the long, battered ones of his brother to keep it there. He’d done the same when Gabe had swung at him with his other fist, this time curling the hand around the calmer pulse in his neck. Josh’d winced when Gabe’s fingers had spasmed deep into his neck and chest, but he’d nevertheless managed to force his breathing and heartbeat to a slower pace to give Gabe a calm, reassuring rhythm to follow. 

All of them were going to be carrying the scars of this war for some time to come.

“It really not so bad, _mon frère_ ,” Goody quietly interrupted Joshua’s thoughts. “If he’s fightin’ us, it jus’ means he still has the will _ta_ fight. As long as he has dat, he’s got a good chance ta pull through. I’ll take a few bruises an’ broken bones any day for dat ta happen.”

“Damn right,” Josh muttered. He gave Goodnight a brief nod of thanks then resumed his path to the bedroom.

Inside, Billy lay stretched out across the mattress on his side, facing Gabe, who lay propped where Josh had left him. As Goody had predicted, with his foreign features and accent, the former assassin had the easiest time convincing the wounded outlaw that he was there to help him. Right now, Billy encouraged Gabe’s fingers to rove his face as he had before, letting him satisfy himself through touch that Billy was someone he could trust not to hurt him further. 

As the gambler hesitated in the doorway, Billy began to sing softly to his bedmate, something sweet and Korean, a lullaby, Josh reckoned. He flinched when he heard it. Billy only sang when the pain hit Gabe especially hard, but at least Josh could console himself that it wasn’t one of the Spanish folk songs their Mexican brother had taught them over the years. Those were reserved for when nothing else could break through the agony Gabe suffered, and sometimes even that didn’t work.

“Don’t just stand there. Get back into bed,” Billy commanded, singing the words in the same deep, sweet tone of the lullaby. His dark eyes stayed fixed on Gabe, but his attention was as sharp on his surroundings as always. “He’s been waiting for you.”

The words had barely left Billy’s mouth before Josh was in the room. He perched gingerly on the edge of the bed behind Gabe and rested one hand on his head, the other over his blanket-covered side. He flexed his fingers gently to get the younger man’s attention and helped him shift over once Gabe accepted his presence. Josh smiled at him once their eyes met.

“Hey there, _hermanito_ , how’re you doing?” 

Gabe blinked slowly and lifted a hand towards Josh, fingertips barely grazing across his beard. Josh’s smile widened at such a blatant response. The nickname was a running joke between them. Josh was the older of the pair, which he contested made him the “big brother.” Gabe, however, was quick to point out that Josh was a good two inches shorter than him, making Josh the “little brother.” The other five men in their party wisely chose not to get involved in this debate.

Seeing Gabe respond to the diminutive gave Josh a brief moment of hope that his brother was coming back to him. In the past few days, Gabe had reacted to so little besides pain and nightmares and occasionally Billy’s singing that any sign of thought or intention beyond that was heartening. A little frown creased Gabe’s brow, and he opened his mouth as if to say something before a seizure-like spasm twisted his body. He loosed a sharp cry, his head slamming back into the pillow, limbs jerking uncontrollably. Josh didn’t hesitate, sweeping back the blankets and aligning his body against Gabe’s naked one. 

“Ssh, ssh, Gabe, easy, stay with me now,” Josh murmured with quiet desperation, his arms encircling his best friend in a loose embrace, as Billy disentangled the blankets completely from around them both so Gabe didn’t feel trapped. After several horrifying minutes, the spasms finally eased up. Gabe whined weakly as the violent tremors released him, and he wriggled to hide himself away from the pain between Josh and the bedding.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, Gabe, easy, easy, ssh, ssh,” Josh continued as he tucked the distressed man as closely as possible into the lines and curves of his own body, trying to be the barrier against the outside world that Gabe needed him to be. He settled one hand protectively on the nape of Gabe’s long, bare neck, his fingers massaging at the twisted muscles he found there with light pressure. It felt like kneading iron. Gabe let out a tiny sob and pressed his face deeper into Josh’s stomach, clutching and twisting at the cloth of his shirt, trying to get closer. Billy wordlessly tucked the blankets around them and left to get Red Harvest.

Gabe’s attempt to escape from the coils of the drugs forced upon him was the most harrowing effort any of them had ever witnessed. They had thought themselves ready to weather this storm, either from past experience or training, yet nothing could have truly prepared them for the sheer horror of it. From the spasms that hit without any warning to the terrors in Gabe’s mind that tormented him relentlessly, every minute since they’d freed him from that damned coffin was a battle that each man felt they could do little to help Gabe win.

Feeling the weight of that futility settle on his shoulders, Josh struggled to keep up his reassuring patter. He tried to keep his voice smooth and soothing, but the strain made itself known in the little hitches and pauses between his words. Gabe’s muscles grew more and more rigid in response, any comfort he found in Josh’s words lost the more he believed them to be false. 

“I’m sorry, Gabe, I’m so sorry,” Josh gasped around the lump that had taken up sudden residence in his throat. Every wound on Gabe’s body was his fault, no matter what the others tried to tell him otherwise, as was every shiver that wracked the broken man lying against him. Josh had _known_ , beyond any shadow of doubt, that Gabe had needed him – needed them all – and still he hadn't been there, not when it would have made a difference. Even if his brother found it in his heart to eventually forgive him, Josh doubted he would ever forgive himself. “It’s gonna get better, Gabe, I promise you that. I’ll make this right somehow.”

He knew the words were the wrong thing to say almost immediately. Josh didn’t have any idea how to make something like this _right_ – God, what even was _right_ anymore - and his uncertainty communicated itself clearly in his speech and body language. Gabe moaned, tensing even further at the lies falling from his lips, and he tried to push out of Josh’ arms.

Not wanting to hurt him, Josh loosened his embrace rather than tightened it and watched with despair as Gabe rose up on one trembling elbow, tilting dangerously there in place with all the weak strength he possessed. Josh’s hands hovered over his shoulders, wanting to help him, but not daring to touch. 

The gambler couldn’t have been more surprised when instead of moving as far away as possible, Gabe instead collapsed ungracefully back onto his living pillow, his head now nestled directly over Josh’s heart. A little hiccup of a sound escaped his lips, but he somehow managed to drag one arm over Josh’s broad chest and worm the other one around Josh’s back. Gabe rolled his head slightly, and Josh felt the heat of his breath through the fabric of his shirt, and then, shockingly, the press of his mouth against his breastbone, before Gabe’s head rolled back to it’s original spot and he seemingly fell into a light doze.

Josh stared down at him in astonishment. He was the one supposed to be providing comfort, the one doing the holding and soothing. How the hell had it gotten turned around on him so fast? And by _Gabe_? The one most in need of comfort?

Josh didn’t even know what the hell had just happened. The pair of them were close, yes, and with his close-knit family upbringing, Gabe had always been the more demonstrative of the two of them. But _this_ , this wasn’t something that had happened between them before. Then again … Josh ran his gaze over the picture they made and stifled a hysterical laugh. He was in bed with a naked man plastered as close to him as a second skin. That wasn’t something that had happened before, either. Dear Jesus, help them both!

“I t’ink yer definitely stuck wit’ him now,” a gently teasing voice broke him from the fit he’d nearly worked himself into. Josh looked up to find the sharpshooter lurking in the bedroom doorway, his bandaged hand casually tucked away in a trouser pocket. His expression softened at the shell-shocked look on his young friend’s face. “It’s good dat he has you, Joshua, dat you have his trust. Now you just have ta trust him da same. Can you do dat?”

“I –” Josh looked down at the man so trustingly sprawled over him, felt the arms encircling him, heard the labored breathing that still somehow managed to be almost in sync with his own. He remembered the promises he’d just made to the same man, and his resolve to make good on those promises turned to steel. “Yes.” 

Goodnight smiled in a small, satisfied way. “Never had a doubt, Joshua.” His gaze briefly followed Red Harvest as the younger man slipped past him and took his place in the bedside chair, medicines in hand. “Well, I see dat yer in good hands now. Billy and I just are goin’ ta head up ta the ranch house ta see what supplies we can scrounge up. Mebbe see if we can find somethin’ ta tempt Gabriel’s appetite.” 

Red Harvest shot him a quick glance over his mixing bowls. “Be careful.”

Goody’s smile turned soft and predatory as Billy showed up at his shoulder. “Don’ you worry ‘bout us, _frère_. Billy an’ I will be the souls of discretion an’ stealth. We’ll be back before you have time ta miss us.” Tipping his hat in a silent salute, the sharpshooter turned and left with Billy in step right beside him.

Red Harvest frowned after them a bit but soon returned his attention back to his patient and the man’s protector. “Billy said he had another fit.”

“Yeah,” Josh rasped, sifting slightly into a more sustainable position. “They’ve been comin’ more often and lastin’ longer, too.”

The young healer hummed thoughtfully as he studied the man stretched out before him in fitful slumber. “That is not unexpected. It will remain so until the poison has left his body completely. I cannot stop them, but I can try to ease them a little.” He reached for the pouches scattered atop the nightstand and tried to remember if his mother had imparted any other teachings that could help here that he hadn’t already attempted.

“Hey, Red,” Josh called softly after long moments of silence stretched between them.

“Yes, Joshua?” he answered in a distracted tone. Perhaps this combination would work, _if_ they could get Gabriel to swallow it … 

The gambler’s voice held a note of solemn sincerity that immediately caught Red Harvest’s attention. “I know I’ve said it before, but I just wanted you to know that I’m real glad it’s you that’s takin’ care of Gabe.”

Red Harvest stared at him a moment before turning his gaze back to his hastily prepared concoction. He knew it wouldn’t hurt Gabriel, but would it help at all? His mother had taught him that there weren’t any miracle cures, especially for someone as badly hurt as his brother, but was he really doing any good? Was Joshua’s faith justified?

“Hey, don’t, Red,” Josh quietly commanded. “No one could do more for him than you are right now. We all know that, and Gabe would, too, if he was in a right state of mind to do so.”

Red Harvest bowed his head and took a few deep breaths. “He is _numunahkahnuu_ –family,” he finally replied. “I can do no less.”

“That’s all any of us can ask.” Joshua pointed over Gabe’s shoulder at the bowl Red Harvest had been mixing his herbs in. “So, what have you got?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the muse struck, so here is the next chapter already! Bonus points for those who know who the guest star is in this ... I needed a character like his and just couldn't resist. And now everyone will know what's in those journals!

A low sound wrenched Jack from uneasy slumber. Instincts honed over many years of harsh living had him reaching for his hatchet as he rolled up to his knees in a defensive posture. His eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom as they darted around the cave to locate the source of whatever made the sound that woke him. A slight movement across the small but still brightly lit fire brought his sharp gaze to the other man sharing the cave with him.

“Sam?” he called softly, his hand still firmly gripped around the handle of his hatchet. “You all right?”

When Sam didn’t answer him, Jack got to his feet and lumbered the small distance separating them. He dropped his free hand to Sam’s shoulder and frowned at the flinch the friendly touch caused. Instead of letting go, he squeezed the tense muscle a little and asked again, “Sam, are you all right?”

Jack felt a slight but noticeable shudder moved through the silent man before Sam straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He didn’t raise his head to look at Jack, but he did pat the older man’s man hand once in acknowledgement. To Jack’s surprise, he left his hand over top his, his fingers pressing Jack’s hand a little into the cap of his shoulder, as he finally responded, “No, I don’t think I am.”

Jack’s frown deepened, and he crouched down to Sam’s level, trying to catch his eye. “What’s wrong? Is your wound hurting you?”

Sam slowly shook his head. “No.” He lifted what looked like a book from his lap and continued in a low monotone. “I’ve seen a lot in my day and heard more, just like you, and just when I think I know the worst a person can do to another human being, I get proved wrong.”

“Brother, you’re not making a lick of sense,” Jack said quietly. He slid the hatchet into its sheath on his belt and reached for the book. “Where did this come from?”

“No!” Sam jerked the book beyond Jack’s grasp, nearly flinging it across the cave with the vehemence of his reaction. 

He calmed himself immediately, but there remained strained, white lines around his mouth and eyes. Sam was normally the steadiest of the lot of them, the rock each of them depended on, whether they were in the middle of a firefight or battling personal demons. Jack had never seen him so wild-looking, and he was suddenly reminded of Goodnight after one of his fits. He felt his own alarm ratchet up further, and his fingers unconsciously swept over the hilt of his hatchet, ready to defend Sam against whatever was plaguing him if he would only tell him what was wrong. 

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Sam apologized in a forced calm tone. “It’s just … I… no one should have to see what’s on these pages. It’s a terrible thing to do to one’s self, and I won’t do it to you.”

The old tracker shifted so that he faced Sam fully and slid both hands over his upper arms. “Sam, where did you get that book?”

“Journal. It’s a journal,” Sam waved a hand to one side, and Jack’s eyes widened a bit at the stack of books at his knee. “Journals, actually. They were Santos’s … all except for this one.” He tapped a finger on the one on top of the stack. 

“Did you read all of these?”

Sam nodded in an almost absent fashion before he abruptly scooped up all the journals and shot to his feet. He glanced out the cave mouth and nodded to himself in satisfaction at the sunlight streaming in. The storm had ended, and they could safely leave. Not that a thunderstorm would have stopped him at this point.

“We need to get to Rio Verde,” he stated and starting shoving all of the journals into his saddlebags.

Jack shook his head as he rose to his feet. “Rio Verde? That’s two days ride from here, and in the opposite direction of where the boys are,” he protested, “What’s there that’s so important it can’t wait?”

“Judge Orrin Travis. I’ve known him a long time. He’s a good man, fair and honest,” Sam answered cryptically, slinging his saddle and bags over the back of his black horse.

“That’s all well and good, Sam, but is now really the time for a visit?” Jack asked with no little irritation. He gathered up his own saddle and the one for the paint, kicking the fire out on his way to the other two horses. He quickly readied the mounts as Sam seemed hellbent on leaving right this minute. 

“Now is the best time,” Sam replied. He swung up onto his horse’s back then paused for a moment. He scrubbed one hand over his face, sighed deeply, and looked over at Jack. “I know I’m not making much sense, Jack. I promise I’ll explain it on the way. We just really need to get to Rio Verde and Travis. If I’m right, what’s in those journals could make a real difference for Gabe.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up at his comment, curiosity joining the irritation. Jack studied him a moment, blue eyes boring deep into Sam’s own brown ones, read the honest sincerity there, and felt the irritation fade. “I trust you, brother. Lead on, then. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to our boys.”

Sam nodded once, a look of relief briefly crossing his face, before he turned his horse towards the cave entrance. Within minutes, the two men were galloping across the plain towards their new destination. Given how hard they were riding, Sam didn’t have much of a chance to explain anything to Jack until the black shadows of a moonless night forced them to stop until dawn or risk maiming their horses.

It took everything he had to keep his voice level as he told the older man in as few words as possible what he had discovered. Why Santos had gone to such lengths to kidnap Gabriel, and why he had enlisted Dr. Hakeswill to help him prolong the young man’s torment. How long the rancher had plotted and planned to take Gabriel and all the things he had wanted to do to him before he finally allowed him to die. How Santos didn’t just record the torture with words, but with drawings so fine and detailed that it made their subject matter all the more horrifying.

Then he told him about the last journal, the one that didn’t belong to Santos. Jack’s eyes widened as he now realized why Sam was so determined to get to his judge friend. If the man was as honest and fair as Sam seemed to think he was, then he was right. Those damned books would make one hell of a difference to the young man who had already suffered so much.

The two of them passed a restless night and were up with first light. They pushed the horses as much as they dared and managed to reach Rio Verde right after nightfall. They left the horses in the care of a sleepy stable boy. Sam slung his saddlebags over one shoulder, and together, they set out to find Judge Travis. After a couple of inquiries made of the locals, they were given directions to the judge’s accommodations in town.

“You sure we shouldn’t wait until morning, Sam?” Jack asked reluctantly. He wanted to put those books in the hands of the man could use them on Gabriel’s behalf as much as Sam did, but he also didn’t want to antagonize a judge by interrupting his dinner or some other foolish civilized notion.

Sam shook his head. “Travis won’t mind, Jack. I told you he’s a good man. He’ll want to see justice done as much as we do.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, then, since we’re here,” the tracker announced, pointing at a small house across the street from where they stood. Lamplight lit the front windows, and as they approached, the sound of voices could be heard within. At least the judge and his household weren’t the early to bed types.

Sam rapped twice on the door, and they waited only a few moments before an older man with piercing brown eyes opened the door. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he realized who was standing on his front porch.

“Sam Chisholm, is that you? How long has it been?” he exclaimed, clasping the hand that Sam extended towards him and shaking it heartily. He inclined his head towards Jack. “And who’s that with you?”

“Good evening to you, Orrin, I reckon it’s been a few years now. This here is Jack Horne, a good friend of mine.” Jack gave a little bow that the judge mirrored. “I hope we haven’t caught you at a bad time?”

“No, no, Evie and I just finished dinner.” Orrin stood to one side and waved one hand. “Come in, both of you, and I’ll have her fix you up a plate. You both look like you could use a good meal.”

“That’s right nice of you, Orrin,” Sam said, "but we really need to speak with you first, if you don’t mind.”

The brown eyes narrowed assessingly, and he nodded with small, rueful grin. “I should have known that you wouldn’t drop by so late for a social visit. Come on, then, my office is this way.”

“Thank you.”

After Sam and Orrin had seated themselves on the overstuffed chairs, with Jack hovering restlessly in the background, and both guests had refused drinks, the judge asked, “So what is this all about, Sam?”

Sam dug through the saddlebags at his feet and pulled out the journals. “How much do you know about Andrew Black?”

“You mean the Texas Ranger?” Sam nodded. Orrin pursed his lips and shrugged. “Only that he had been working on a string of missing persons cases when he was murdered almost eight years ago. I never met the man, but I did speak with his partner once, a Luke Reeves, who spoke highly of him. Ranger Reeves seemed convinced that he was murdered by the man who was making all those people disappear.”

Jack growled under his breath at this, causing the judge to stare up sharply at him. Sam raised a placating hand, and Jack visibly bit back the words he wanted to say. Orrin turned his attention back to Sam. 

“I take it that this is not the case?” Orrin asked dryly.

“No, Orrin, it is not,” the warrant officer answered. He handed one of the leather-bound books to the older man. “If would just flip open the cover there, you can see that that there is the journal of Ranger Black.”

Orrin pulled out a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket and read the name and date inscribed on the inside. “So it would appear.”

“Orrin,” Sam leaned in and said intently, “that there is not the chronicle of a ranger trying to find a criminal and stop him. That is the journal of a madman who was committing the very crimes he was sent out to solve and taking sick pleasure in what he did to the poor souls he kidnapped.”

The judge sat back in his chair and regarded Sam steadily. “Those are some very serious accusations to make against a venerated Ranger, Sam.”

“I know, but the man damns himself by his own hand. I’ve read that book cover to cover, Orrin, and in it are things that I will never be able to forget no matter how much I want to.” Sam suppressed a shudder at the remembered images. “But I can’t say that I’m sorry I did, since those words just might free an innocent man.”

The judge looked intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“I know the man who’s accused of killing Black,” Sam admitted slowly. Yes, Orrin Travis was a friend, but he was also a man highly devoted to the law. Sam would have to be careful here. “I know him to be a good man, and I’ve known for a while now that if he said that Black deserved to be killed, then he meant it. I never asked for details, didn’t think it my place, but after reading that, I know why he didn’t want to speak of it. And that he was right. Black deserved death, and the bullet to the head was far too merciful an end for such a miserable bastard.”

Orrin shook his head. “You know that’s not how the justice system works, Sam.”

“Yeah, I do.” He pointed at the book in the judge’s hand. “Just read that journal, Orrin, and see if you don’t agree with me on this one, though. And if that one doesn’t convince you, read the other nine.” He gestured at the stack of books on the floor.

“Are they Black’s, too?”

“No, these belong to Donaldo Santos.”

Orrin raised an eyebrow at this revelation. “The rancher down in Lightning Falls? The one who owns practically everything in a forty mile radius, and what he doesn’t own, he has a significant influence over? That Donaldo Santos? What does he have to do with Black?”

“Yes, that Santos,” Sam confirmed, disgust twisting his mouth, “and he has everything to do with Black. The Ranger wasn’t the only horror preying on innocent people. In fact, they’d made it quite a competition between them to see who could be more … inventive when it came to torturin’ folks to death. They became hunting partners, then something more. I’m not really sure how to describe their relationship, don’t really want to, honestly. I just know that Santos was not a happy man when Black was finally put down. He’s been plotting vengeance against his killer for years and practicing that vengeance on the unfortunate souls he’s kidnapped for a while now.” 

He decided to keep Gabe’s abduction and torture quiet for now. Killing Santos and the others who had helped him hurt the younger man wasn’t exactly legal, and he didn’t want to give Orrin any reason to dismiss or detain him. Sam rubbed a weary hand over his face. 

“I don’t really want you to have to read those journals, Orrin. The words, the drawings, they’ll stick with you, and you’re my friend. But the man accused of murdering Black is like family to me, and there’s nothing I want more for him than to lift the bounty on his head.”

“Gabriel Vasquez.” Sam and Jack both froze at the sound of their young one’s name coming out of the judge’s mouth. “He’s one of the men you’ve been riding with for the past five years, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Sam admitted warily, aware of the thin ice he was treading on. Orrin could have both of them arrested for keeping company with a wanted felon, even if Gabriel was wrongly accused. Had he misjudged just how committed Orrin was to the law instead of justice?

“I’ve heard of the good you and your men have been doing, Sam,” Orrin continued as if oblivious to the tension stifling the room. Sam knew him better than that, though, and waited alertly for his next words. “Rose Creek especially stands out. Not exactly within the bounds of the law, but then, Bart Bogue had most of the law bought and paid for in that part of the country. Was Vasquez with you then?”

“Yes, he was one of the first ones I recruited,” Sam answered, meeting Orrin’s hard gaze with an unflinching one of his own. “He didn’t even hesitate to come with me. We wouldn’t have won without his help.”

“Hmm.” Orrin hefted the journal in one hand thoughtfully. “And he’s family to you now?”

“As close as my mother and sisters ever were, even if we’re not blood,” Sam said with quiet conviction.

The judge eyed him for a moment then raised his gaze to Jack. Sam didn’t turn around to see Jack’s expression, but he could guess what kind of steely look the tracker had on his face. Orrin nodded at them both and gathered up the journals into a neat pile on the small table beside his chair. 

“Very well. Leave the journals with me for the night. We’ll talk again in the morning after I’ve had a chance to read them.” He stood up and ushered them towards the door. “Until then, let’s get you both fed and find some beds for you to sleep in.”

“That’s not really necessary, Orrin,” Sam protested, hastily scooping up his saddlebags from the floor before following Jack out of the room. “We can find rooms at the boarding house. There’s no need to be disturbing your wife at this hour.”

“Perhaps, but I insist. No sense it making you go back out into the night when Evie and I have perfectly good guest rooms here, and I can guarantee that the food here is much better.” He shot Sam a knowing look over the top of his glasses. “You know how Evie is, Sam. If you leave now without seeing her, she’ll get mighty upset, and you don’t want that on your conscience.”

“No, that I do not.”

“No, you most certainly do not, Sam Chisholm.” A small woman with grey-shot red hair stood before them with her hands on her hips and a motherly glare in her eye. She ruined the wrathful image a moment later with a wide smile and a kiss to Sam’s cheek. “Dinner’s already on the table, Sam, and the beds are made. You and your friend are going to eat then sleep. The three of you can solve the world’s problems tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Evie.” “Yes, ma’am.” Sam and Jack answered in unison.

Evie gave a delighted little laugh and turned to lead them to the kitchen. The two men followed her at a sedate pace while her husband retreated back into his office to start on the journals. Before they reached the kitchen, Jack stopped Sam with a hand on his arm.

“Can we trust him?” he asked, looking back at the closed door behind them.

Sam contemplated the door then Jack. “I believe so. Orrin has been dedicated to the law for decades, but ever since his son was murdered by men a lot like Santos and Black, he’s been a little more flexible in his thinking. Once he’s done with those journals, I don’t think he’ll be too worried about what the law has to say about their deaths. I just hope that he can use them to lift the bounty.” He paused then patted one of the bags hanging over his arm. “I didn’t give him Santos’ last journal, though. The less he knows, the more he can deny later, and the better it is for Gabriel.”

“Let’s hope the Lord sees fit to enlighten him to our way of thinking,” Jack murmured darkly.

“Amen.”

“Are you two going to stand in the hallway all night or come eat?” Evie’s impatient voice floated in through the doorway.

“Coming, Evie …”


	8. Chapter 8

The four men gathered around their wounded brother and watched helplessly as the terrible spasms and shrieks continued unabated. Only now and then could Gabe claim any respite from the toxins in his blood, and those moments only seemed to serve to renew those nervous energies. It was as exhausting to watch him as it was terrifying, and all of them were feeling it. 

Gabriel had woken late that morning with a high fever and a delirium so deep that not even Billy’s singing or Josh’s solid, steady presence could penetrate it. He lashed out at random, fighting fever phantoms, cursing at them in the gibberish they’d come to expect over the past few days. Each of them took fresh hits from fists made powerful through fear, but the gambler took the worst of the punishment. Lying as closely as he did with Gabe against him, Josh was unable to dodge or dart away from the blows as they others could, and he ended up with new bruises blossoming over his face and torso. He didn’t complain.

The fever and delirium grew as the hours wore on. During that time, it was virtually impossible to get any nourishment or medicines inside him, and what they did get him to take didn’t stay with him long. When they had the chance, they changed the bandages over his wounds as his feverish movements repeatedly tore the stitches on his back and re-opened other injuries. His twitchings and ravings grew so alarming, Goodnight had fearfully asked about the possibility of a brain fever.

Red Harvest shook his head. “This is only the last of the poison leaving his body. It does not want to go peacefully. But if he survives the night, we will have won this battle.”

Instead of reassuring, his words cast a grim pall over the quartet. Each of them had seen strong men die from lesser maladies than Gabriel currently suffered from. Each of them unconsciously moved closer to their wounded fifth as if their combined presence alone could shield Gabriel from that terrible fate. Gabriel muttered and shivered on, unaware of the fight his brothers had undertaken on his behalf.

Towards the small hours of the next morning, Red Harvest managed with great difficulty -- and only on the promise to get them if anything changed -- to persuade Billy and Goodnight to leave and get some rest. Both men were looking haunted and wild about the eyes, old memories stirred back to hideous life by Gabriel’s unending distress. They left the room together, leaning into one another for whatever comfort the other could provide. Red Harvest didn’t know how much sleep they would get, and he didn’t expect them to go far; but a break from the sick room could only do them good.

With Joshua, he made no such attempt. Even if by some chance he could convince Joshua to leave, the way Gabriel was currently wrapped around the gambler would make it extremely difficult to do so. Red Harvest knew, though, that Joshua had no intention to leave, no matter how terribly worn out he was. He had appointed himself Gabriel’s guardian, and under the weight of that self-imposed responsibility, he likely wouldn’t have slept if parted from his _hermanito_ anyway.

Red Harvest wrung out the cloth and gently wiped away the sweat beading along Gabriel’s hairline while Joshua spoke quiet nonsense at him. He kept all his touches soft and gentle against Gabriel’s skin. Whether he was bathing his wounds, changing his bandages, coaxing him to drink the medicines he’d prepared or prompting him to eat what little he could keep in his stomach, all his actions were as light as he could make them. Gabriel still startled so badly at the sight of him that he knew that the scouts had to have been involved in more than just his capture. It was part of the Comanche way to torture those they had captured, and knowing how sadistic Santos was, Red Harvest doubted that he had kept his scouts from their sport. Like Goodnight’s new speech pattern or Joshua’s more controlled movements, being gentle was his own way of trying to distance himself from his tormentors in Gabriel’s mind.

The healer finished the wipe down and set the cloth and bowl aside. He hesitated a moment then he sat down on the bed by Joshua’s hip. The older man’s eyes flicked over to him briefly, exhaustion and crushing worry muddying the green depths, before zeroing back in on Gabriel. Red Harvest sighed to himself. Joshua was not the only one who could elect himself as someone’s protector, and with all his reckless ways, no one needed one more. Gabriel usually undertook that duty. He always made it seem so easy to break Joshua out of his dark and dangerous moods, even when all of them knew it wasn’t easy at all. When this was over, he was going to sit Gabriel down and have him explain all his tricks for keeping Joshua safe from himself.

But Red Harvest didn’t have that information now, and he was going to have to think of something on his own before Joshua became irretrievably buried under his guilt. Red Harvest frowned as he tried to remember what Gabriel had done in the past. He wasn’t as good at talking as the other two, and for all the time he had spent with them in the past five years, Red Harvest knew that he still didn’t know them as well as they knew each other. He thought harder as he sorted through old memories of the two older men and how they interacted. It took a few minutes, but a pattern soon made itself evident, and the young healer couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it before. 

Gabriel didn’t just use words. 

Reaching out, Red Harvest curled his hand around Joshua’s upper arm and squeezed lightly. Joshua tensed at the touch, his eyes darting first to his hand then to his face. Red Harvest met his gaze steadily, silently, and tightened his fingers a fraction more. Joshua’s whispering trailed off, and he swallowed hard, his lips pressing together into a straight line to keep them from trembling. The younger man nodded solemnly, willing Joshua to understand everything he didn’t know how to say. After a few moments, Joshua’s face lost some of its pinched look and he nodded back, a little of the stress and anxiety clearing from his eyes. 

Red Harvest gave his arm one last squeeze then let him go. Joshua went back to whispering into Gabriel’s ear as the tremors started up again, and Red Harvest reached once more for the rag and basin. In the next room, he could hear soft murmurings between Billy and Goodnight. Tonight would be a long night, but thankfully none of them would have to face it alone. 

***

His eyes fluttered and blinked before finally opening. He stared at nothing for a while before moving his eyes over the quiet, unfamiliar surroundings. He didn’t know where he was, but he didn’t have the energy to care about that. He felt so weak, so tired, and he hurt. It didn’t really matter where he was, these things never changed. Not anymore. He had forgotten how to remember anything else.

Yet, there was something different this time. It took him long moments to understand this, to pinpoint exactly what those differences were. The place where his head lay moved in a slow, even rhythm, and gentle warmth cocooned his battered body where usually there was only a blank chill. The biggest difference, though, was the scent that filled his nose. Not the bitter, stringent smell of the men who brought the hurting or the harsh copper scent of his own blood. This scent was … was cheap whiskey and tobacco, leather and horse, _safety_ and _home_.

Fear rolled through his body in a slow tidal wave. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening! _He_ couldn’t be here, too, not _here_. No! He had tried so hard to keep silent when his torturers had asked about the others, his family, _this man_. He hadn’t betrayed them, had he? No, he couldn’t have! He hurt too much to have given in to their carefully phrased questions. They always hurt him so much more when he stayed quiet. He could take any pain so long as his family was spared the same. He had to be wrong, he had to be –

He shook his head to clear it yet the scent remained. With every breath he took, that familiar smell filled his lungs and brought a small measure of comfort with it even through his rising panic. Maybe this was another trick. The men who had him were smart and cruel. They knew it would break him if they had _him_ , too. Breathing harshly, he used the panic to give him enough strength to push himself up and see the truth.

His eyes widened in horror at the sight before him. _He_ was here, unconscious, unmoving, probably hurt. Forcing himself further upright, he reached out a trembling hand and slapped weakly at his chest, frantically trying to find any injuries. What had they done to him?

Strong hands curled around his own, threading their fingers together, and stilled his hysterical movements. He fought against the hands with all the strength he had left, but he was easily outmatched. He didn’t hear the desperate, incoherent pleas he made or feel the tears running down his face. He just kept trying to get closer to the body beneath his even as he was drawn back into a careful embrace.

“Sssh, shh, Gabe. He’s all right. Josh is all right. He’s just sleeping, Gabe, he’s not hurt.” 

He stopped struggling for a moment, overwhelmed by a new scent. This one carried the sharp bite of metal, not of copper but of steel, and faint hints of smoke that weren’t tobacco. It wasn’t as familiar as the first, but it still meant family. _O Dios, por favor no_ , had he given this one away, too? Had they all been captured and brought to this place of pain because he hadn’t been strong enough to keep their secrets?

“noooo….”

“Hush now, Gabe. You’re safe, and so is Josh. Look, he’s waking up now. He’s not hurt, and no one is going to hurt him or you. There you go, Gabe, that’s right, calm down, you don’t want to pull any more stitches.”

His breathing still came in harsh pants as he let his head fall back against the shoulder of the man holding him, all his muscles going limp as his strength fled and the pain threatened to drag him under again. He just barely managed to hold on, watching the man below him as the green eyes opened and focused sluggishly on him. Comprehension struck the other man, and there was a flurry of movement as he lurched upright and swept him up into his arms. Gabriel choked back a pained cry, slumped bonelessly into the embrace, and just let himself breathe in the welcome scent of this man.

“Gabe! You’re awake! How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

A little smile curved his lips as he pressed his face deeper into the hollow of the other man’s shoulder. Darkness reached out for him with greedy fingers, but he forced out one word before they could take him away. “ _guero_ …”

“Yes! Gabe, yes! What do you need, anything, just tell me an’ I’ll it.”

“Easy dere, Joshua,” Goodnight’s hand curled over the cap of Josh’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze, “I t’ink he’s passed out again.”

“No, not passed out.” Strong hands lifted the outlaw’s face from where he had hidden it against Josh’s throat and felt the gentle, normal heat coming from his skin. Red Harvest made a satisfied sound and lowered Gabriel’s head back to Josh’s shoulder. “The fever is gone, and he is finally getting the rest he needs to heal. I know you want to talk with him, Joshua, but this is the best thing for him right now. Like you after Rose Creek, the more he sleeps the less he will feel the pain of his wounds and the faster he will heal.”

Josh nodded, his hand coming up to cradle Gabe’s head against his shoulder as he leaned them both back onto the pillows. He understood that, he’d lived that five years ago, and Gabe had been at his side the entire time. He had no problem returning the favor now. He just needed to know one thing. “He’s gonna be okay now, right?”

Red Harvest nearly flinched at the almost child-like appeal. He didn’t want to kill the hope in Joshua’s eyes, but he also didn’t want to mislead him or their other brothers. Gabriel had won this battle; he had many others to face before he would truly be “okay.”

“The fever is gone. This is true. But this type of poison lingers, in both the body and the mind. He will be feeling the effects of this for a long time. You know this, _pabi_ ,” he answered in a near pleading-tone of his own.

“Yeah, I do,” Josh agreed softly, “but that ain’t what I meant, kid. I just meant with the fever an’ all, there’s no chance of a relapse or some such, is there?”

Red Harvest ran his eyes over the prone form in Joshua’s arms, gaze lingering over each of the bandages wrapped around various parts of their brother’s body. Old blood left rusty spots on the cloth covering his injuries; they would have to be changed soon, the wounds cleaned and re-salved. He shook his head. “If we can keep infection out of his wounds, then no, there should be no more fever.”

“Good, that’s great. One battle down, right?” Joshua gave him a tired, lopsided grin.

Red Harvest clasped Joshua’s arm as he had before and let his lips curl upwards. “Right.”

“All right den, _mes frères_ ,” Goodnight said, moving to stand beside Billy where he perched once more on the hope chest at Gabriel’s feet. Draping one arm around the other man’s shoulders, he tugged him close until Billy’s shoulder dug slightly into his belly. Billy tilted his head to rest against Goody’s ribs. “What’s our next battlefield?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame this chapter on Adam Rodriguez. I'd always liked him as Eric Delko on CSI: Miami, but I fell in love with him all over again in Criminal Minds. And he was in Fugitive Retrieval before joining the BAU ... sooo ... here you go. I hope it was worth the month and a half long wait!

Jack and Sam slept well past sunrise and breakfast both the next morning, the last few days catching up with them with a vengeance. Not even the dread sitting in Sam’s muscles could keep him awake the night before, though he was still as stiff when he finally rolled out of bed. Stretching as much as the tension allowed, Sam swung his feet over the side of the bed and headed for the door.

He met Jack coming out of the room opposite his. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning to you, too, Sam.” The older man fell into step with him as they headed down the hallway towards the judge’s office. They didn’t meet anyone along the way; Evie must be out. “You think he’s gotten through all those journals yet?”

“Let’s find out.” Sam paused when they reached the closed door. Squaring his shoulders, he shared a speaking look with Jack then knocked firmly.

“Come in.”

The judge sat in the same chair he had the previous night, a low fire burning against the chill of the spring day and the journals stacked in two neat piles on the table beside him. A nearly empty bottle of expensive whiskey and a completely empty glass sat beside the journals. Travis didn’t look up at them as he waved him into the chairs across from him. Both men took him up on his offer this time.

The fraught silence stretched between them for several long moments as Travis poured another finger of whiskey into the glass and raised it to his lips. Light from the windows illuminated the shadows around the judge’s face, and Sam sighed at the deep lines cutting into the corners of his old friend’s mouth and eyes.

“I’m sorry, Orrin.”

Travis took a sip from the tumbler then waved the glass at them in dismissal. “There’s no need to apologize, Sam,” he said wearily. “It needed to be done, and I needed to do it. But you were very much right, my friend. I will never forget the horror inscribed on those pages.”

Sam inclined his head in commiseration. Jack shifted uncomfortably beside him, feeling unaccountably left out. He didn’t figure that he’d ever get a chance to read those cursed books, and a part of him was very certain he’d never want to after seeing Sam and the judge's reactions. Sam had already told him what he felt he needed to know. But still …

“What are you planning on doing then, Orrin?”

Sam’s question drew Jack’s attention, and he looked expectantly at Travis. Travis placed his glass on the table and picked up a handful of papers. “I’ve already done it. I sent out a telegram this morning to Luke Reeves.”

“What? Why?” Jack exclaimed, half rising out his seat. He’d figured that the Rangers would have to be involved somehow, but to summon the partner of the monster who’d butchered so many people? What the hell was Travis thinking? 

“Jack, don’t,” Sam said calmly. Jack whipped his head in Sam’s direction. Their gazes clashed, an entire argument taking place in a moment, before Sam gave his head a slight shake. Jack huffed but reluctantly sat back down, folding his arms across his chest to keep from reaching for his hatchet.

The judge remained stoic in the face of the tracker’s wrath. “I confess that I have only met Reeves a handful times, Mr. Horne, but I know him to be as good a man as you claim Mr. Vasquez is.” He weathered Jack’s black glare without flinching. “Besides, if anyone can authenticate this journal, it would be him. He knew Black better than anyone.” 

Travis narrowed his eyes over the rim of his glasses at Jack’s muttered “That’s what I’m afraid of!” Sam tugged at his ear in frustration with Jack’s antics, even if he secretly agreed with him. He trusted Orrin with most things, his own life included, but it wasn’t his life at risk here. He wished that Orrin had told him what he was planning before he did it, but it was too late now. They’d just have to deal with Reeves when he got here.

“Gentlemen, I did not make this decision lightly.” Travis pushed himself to his feet and took another sip of whiskey. He paced as much as the small room would allow. 

"The Rangers aren’t likely to accept any accusations against Black without hard proof, and I can’t lift the warrant on Gabriel Vasquez without their blessing,” he explained patiently. “It was one of their own that was killed, and they’re the ones who put out the bounty. This needs to be done right and proper to make sure that your friend doesn’t suffer from any further injustice due to the actions of madmen. If Reeves, not only the man’s partner, but one of the most respected Rangers currently serving right now, is the one to give that blessing, it makes it less likely for anyone to conveniently ignore a pardon and go after Mr. Vasquez later.”

He watched with some satisfaction as the two men opposite him absorbed his words. Mr. Horne, at least, looked a little less murderous, and Sam a little less doubtful. 

“How soon until he gets here?” Sam asked.

“You’re in luck there,” Travis answered. “He should be here in two or three days, depending on how fast he rides. Considering the circumstances, I imagine it’ll be closer to two. He’ll have questions for you, I’m sure. Both of you are welcome to stay here until he arrives.”

Sam protested genially, “We wouldn’t want to be an imposition, Orrin.”

“You’re a friend, Sam, and any friend of yours is one of mine as well,” Travis inclined his head toward Jack. “Evie would be glad to have you both as well. It’ll give her someone else to fuss over, and you know how happy that makes her. Just stay, Sam, and you, too, Mr. Horne. You won’t get a better offer anywhere else in town.”

The warrant officer chuckled and ducked his head. “I know we won’t. All right, you convinced me. We’ll stay.”

“Not me,” Jack spoke up in his high-pitched tones, “No offense, but I think I’ll camp outside out of town until the Ranger comes in. I don’t much like being closed in by four walls if I can help it. I do thank you kindly for your offer, Judge.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Horne. If you change your mind or you just want a home-cooked meal, please feel free to stop by.”

“Thank you again, Judge. Sam, you know where to find me when Reeves gets in.”

“That I do.”

“I’ll see you then.” Without another word, the tracker climbed to his feet and left the study.

Travis watched him leave then raised an eyebrow at Sam. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Sam pulled his own gaze from the doorway and shook his head. “No. Jack’s had his problems in the past, as have we all, but he’s doing all right now. He’ll be there when we need him.”

“Good enough for me,” the judge said quietly. “You feel like some lunch? Evie left some food out for the two of you before she went out.”

“I could eat,” he patted his stomach with a humorous glint in his eye, “especially anything Evie’s made.”

“I always knew you were a smart man, Sam.”

***

The two days waiting for Reeves to arrive were interminable. Sam truly did relish spending time with Orrin and Evie, but the need to get back to Gabriel and the others overruled any enjoyment he found in their company. The aching restlessness that had sunk into his muscles and bones since hunting down Santos and Black Knife plagued him still. He’d probably have as much luck trying to sleep beside the campfire with Jack as he did in the feather-stuffed bed in the Travis’s guest room. His appetite wasn’t what it should be, either, though he made the effort to clean his plate to keep Evie happy. 

Orrin had also spoken with him about Santos and what had happened at his ranch. Sam had waited narrow-eyed for judgment on their actions, but it never came. While he didn’t condone their actions, he didn’t exactly condemn Sam and his brothers for what they had done, either. Instead, he asked after Gabriel’s health with quiet concern and offered whatever help he could provide. Guilt pricked at Sam’s conscience that he had ever doubted his friend’s loyalty.

Despite the Travis’s generosity, he felt as impatient and frustrated as Joshua in a dry county surrounded by the local women’s charity society. That particular incident had ended poorly for the gambler and the ladies in question, and only Goody’s silver tongue had gotten them all out of that town with their hides intact. Neither Jack nor himself were gifted in that fashion, so Sam tried to find ways to keep himself occupied.

He spent some time in grooming his horse and the one that formerly belonged to Santos. It was quite a strong, handsome beast, and in spite of Santos’s brutal treatment of his fellow man, the opposite appeared to be true of his horse. It didn’t shy away from Sam’s touch and obeyed all his commands as if he’d trained it himself. He didn’t know if Gabe would appreciate where the horse came from, but if he didn’t, they wouldn’t have a problem finding a buyer for it.

When he wasn’t in the stables, Sam split his time between the Travis home and Jack’s camp, making sure he knew where the older man would be. The first few times he set out to find Jack, the man wasn’t in his camp, but third try was the charm. The two didn’t exchange many words when in each other’s presence, but that wasn’t exactly an odd occurrence for them. While they spoke more often than Red Harvest or Billy, neither of them were as loquacious as Gabe, Josh, or God help them all, Goodnight. Sam let himself be soothed by the familiarity of Jack’s silent, solid presence, and when he returned to Orrin’s house that night, he felt just relaxed enough to be able to get a few hours of sleep. 

Finally, though, the two days passed, and in the late morning of the third, a lone rider barreled down the busy streets of the small town, expertly avoiding any pedestrians in his path. The rider reined his horse, a nicely built roan, to neat stop at the entrance to the saloon Sam, Jack, who had decided to wander into town that morning, and Orrin had just exited. Travis advanced on the newcomer, voice raised to berate the man for his recklessness, when the rider swung down off his horse and pushed his hat back from his forehead to swipe at the sweat that trickled over his brow. Travis paused at the bottom step and shook his head in exasperation. 

“Ranger Reeves, you made good time.”

Sam and Jack exchanged a quick, surprised look as Travis led the Ranger over to them for introductions. He looked nothing like what they’d expected. Despite the last name of Reeves, the newcomer appeared more Mexican than Gabriel, but it was his youth that really startled the tracker and the warrant officer. He couldn’t be much more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old. Gabriel had killed Black nearly eight years ago – how young must Reeves have been when he’d first joined the Rangers? How long had he been partnered with Black? How deep had that monster’s influence affected an impressionable young man?

Yet the closer he got to them, the more both men of the Seven could glimpse the fearsome manhunter Travis had claimed him to be. He’d obviously ridden long and hard, dust and exhaustion both lining his face, but despite this, Reeves moved with the economical grace of a seasoned predator, a six-shooter strapped to either hip. His dark brown eyes held a sharp, lively intelligence, and he used them to study the older pair with the same consideration as they did him. His handshake, when he finally reached them, was strong and confident. All in all, he presented himself as the kind of man Jack and Sam would, under other circumstances, want at their backs.

Their estimation of Gabriel’s hiding skills went up a few notches. If he could evade some as skilled and relentless as Reeves appeared to be, not to mention Santos and other bounty hunters like Sam, for as long as he had – then either he’d had a bad day when Sam and Emma had darkened his door … or he’d been tired of running. Given how willing he’d been to stay and fight in Rose Creek despite the overwhelming odds against them … thank God, Sam had been the one to find him and make him that outrageous offer.

“Luke Reeves, Texas Ranger,” he introduced himself with a self-deprecating smile. “But you already knew that. Your reputations precede you, Mr. Chisholm, Mr. Horne.”

“We’re glad you’re here, Ranger Reeves,” Sam replied honestly. Finally, their wait was over, and soon they could be on their way back to Gabriel and the others, hopefully with the best kind of news to give them. “We got something that needs your attention.”

“So I’ve heard,” the ranger said as he fell into step with the other three men. “Judge Travis tells me that you’ve found The Butcher.”

Jack frowned at the moniker and asked, “The Butcher?”

“It’s the name we gave the man who’s been kidnapping and torturing folks for the last decade or so,” Reeves explained. “You’d understand if you’d ever been the one to find the remains of any of his victims.”

“No, see, we do understand,” Sam replied, the corners of his mouth turning down with the weight of his anger and disgust. “We’ve seen what he can do. Butcher is too kind a name, if you ask me, but it should be Butchers. Plural. There were two of them.”

Reeves stopped dead at the bottom of the steps that led into Travis’s home and pinned the man on the stairs above him with a disbelieving stare. “What?”

“Two,” Sam reiterated grimly. “One has been dead has been for years. Until a week and a half ago, the other was still alive and carrying on with killing innocent people at will.”

“But no longer?” The ranger’s dark eyes bore into Sam’s own, like he could read the truth on his very soul.

The older man held that look without flinching as he confirmed, “No longer.”

Reeve’s gaze grew even sharper. “And you have proof of this?”

“We do.”

The muscles in Reeves’s jaw jumped with the force he was using to grind his teeth. “Show me.”

“We intend to, Ranger,” Travis interjected, breaking the staring contest. “This way.”

Travis led their dour procession into his house and down the hall to his study. He picked up the top journal from the stack and handed it to the young Ranger. “Start here then finish the rest,” he instructed. He gestured towards the decanter and the clean glass beside it. “Feel free to drink as much of the whiskey as you want. You’re going to need it.”

Reeves cut him a dark look as he took the proffered journal. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Just read those books, Reeves, and you’ll understand.”

Reeves turned the book over in his hands then opened the front cover. He gave a brief start as he read the inscription on the first page. “This is one of Andy’s journals. He was always writing in one of these. Every night before we turned in, he would scribble down at least a few lines.” His fingers traced over the decade-old writing before he jerked his head up to glare at them all. “Where did you get this? Did The Butcher have it?”

“Yes,” Sam answered into the silence the question brought. Jack shifted slightly at his side but made no comment, and neither did Travis.

Sam felt his heart twist a little at the storm of emotions lurking behind the anger in the Ranger’s eyes. Black had meant something to him beyond just partner and friend, that much was obvious. Sam abruptly wished there was a less brutal way to convince the young man of Black’s guilt; but he couldn’t think of any at the moment, and he meant for Gabriel to walk as a free man once again. He could only hope that Reeves was strong enough to survive the poison written on those pages. 

“And no,” Sam continued. He hesitated a moment then pulled out the journal he’d kept from Orrin last night. “Read that one last. It’ll clear a lot of things up. And for what it’s worth,” he couldn’t help but add, “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We’ll leave you alone for now,” Orrin said instead of answering the question. “We can discuss this further once you have all the facts. We’ll be outside if you need us.”

With these words, the three older men left the study before Reeves could ask any more questions and silently filed down to the kitchen. Jack and Sam pulled out chairs from the table and sat down while Orrin circled around them and poured three cups of coffee from the pot sitting on top of the stove. He passed them out to his companions and took a seat himself.

And that’s how Evie found them over an hour later, sitting in silence and staring blankly into empty cups. She tutted at them as she bustled into the room with her purchases. 

“What are you boys doing moping about in my kitchen?” she said a light tone, hoping to break some of the tension in the room.

“Reeves arrived this morning,” Orrin answered shortly, not rising to her teasing. “He’s in the study now reading those blasted journals.”

Evie’s face fell at his words. “Oh Orrin, was that really necessary? Luke is such a good boy, does he have to read those horrible books?”

The judge climbed to his feet and took his wife’s hands in his. “You know how he felt about Black, darling. You’ve heard him talk about how much he admired his mentor at this very table over meals you’ve prepared. He would never have believed us if we just told him what we knew. He had to see it for himself if we are to get justice for Mr. Vasquez.”

“Well, of course, you’ll get justice for Mr. Vasquez!” Evie declared like it was a forgone conclusion. “Luke always does the right thing, no matter how hard that it is for him. You remember what he did for poor Annie and her little girls after the Lawrence gang killed Jacob. No one else could have done that, Orrin, and no one else could have come back from Cañón Del Muerto with as many bullets he had him in, either.”

“I know, Evie, I know. I just wish it didn’t come at such a high price,” Orrin inclined his head toward their two guests. “For everyone.”

Though both were curious about the incident the couple were talking about, neither Sam or Jack asked. They couldn’t bring themselves to break the silence they’d insulated themselves in all afternoon. Their brother’s fate rested in the hands of a man they didn’t know, and no matter how ringing an endorsement the young Ranger had from Orrin and Evie, being this helpless wasn’t something that sat well with either man. 

“Well, I’m just going to see if Luke needs anything, then I’ll get started on dinner,” Evie said after a moment of awkward silence. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She was back in less than thirty seconds. “Orrin,” she said urgently as she came rushing back into the kitchen. “Orrin, I think you should check on Luke. He didn’t answer when I knocked, and the door is locked.”

All three men rose to their feet and retraced Evie’s path with swift steps. It took no time for Orrin to unlock the study door, and then they were in the room beyond it. They slowed at the sight of the young Ranger standing beside the small fire, one of the journals dangling precariously close to the flames from his fingers. His body was wound tight, and his face was pale beneath his naturally tanned complexion. He didn’t seem to hear them come in. 

Orrin shouldered past the other two and slowly approached the distraught man. “Ranger Reeves? Luke? Are you all right?”

“I owe all of you an apology,” he responded instead of answering of the question. “This is – I can hardly believe any of this, even with his own words condemning him. I can’t deny the truth, but I want to. Dear God, how I want to!”

Reeves closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the mantle. “You have to understand. I grew up on a small farm in a no-name town in New Mexico. Nothing but dirt and wind as far as the eye could see, and I couldn’t wait to leave it all behind me. Unlike the rest of my family, I knew that I wasn’t going to be a farmer for the rest of my life. A – Ranger Black – came to our town on the trail of a murderer. The killer tried to use me a hostage when An – Ranger Black – caught up to him, but Andy – Ranger Black – shot the bastard down before he could hurt me.”

“He made it look so effortless and exciting, and I knew right then that I wanted to be a Texas Ranger. I followed him all over town, begging him to take me with him. I amused Andy enough for him to agree to take me with him on his ride back to Houston with the murderer’s body. My parents both cried the day I left, but I was determined to get out of that town and be the best Ranger I could be.”

A faint smile crossed his face for a brief moment. “And I was right. I’m good at what I do, damn good, and I know you don’t want to hear it, but Andy was a big part of the reason why. He’s the one who convinced our commander, Highsmith, to take a chance on me, then he took the time to teach me all he knew. He was more than my partner – he became like a second father to me.”

“There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for him, and when I heard that he’d been shot dead like one of those animals that he hunted down.” Reeves’s voice shook with rage, and he had to take a moment to calm back down. “I vowed that I would find his killer and see him hang.”

“Looking back now, all the signs of this,” he raised the journal in his hand before letting his arm fall limply back to his side, “were obvious. Andy was the best damn tracker we had, yet he always seemed one step behind The Butcher. He had all sorts of excuses as to why I couldn’t go with him on those particular hunts, and he never let anyone examine any evidence he brought back with him too closely. No one really questioned it, not even Commander Highsmith, and that man’s impossible to fool.”

“But we were all of us fools, weren’t we?” Reeves finished bitterly. “None of us saw past that justice-driven mask of his to the evil underneath. We thought he was the best of us. If he couldn’t catch The Butcher, then no one could. We all believed that. I believed that. It’s why I thought I couldn’t catch him, either.”

The Ranger set the journal in his hands on the mantle then took several slow, deliberate steps away from the fireplace. “I need one of you to take that book and lock it away in the bank vault or the sheriff’s office or any place I can’t get to it.” He waved at the other journals on the chairside table and visibly swallowed. “All of them. Please. I – I don’t trust myself around them right now.”

Sam moved around Travis at this quiet plea. He scooped up the journals and passed them behind him to Jack. He then steered the young man into the judge’s armchair. He poured him a drink and pressed it into the Ranger’s hand. 

“Drink this.”

Reeves gulped it down, and Sam poured him another. Once he’d downed that one as well, Sam crouched down in front of him, looked him straight in the eye, and said in his best no-nonsense voice, “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t –” Reeves choked, hands curling into fists on top of his thighs.

“No, you listen to me,” Sam interrupted, his voice gently stern like whenever he had to talk sense into one of the boys. “None of what Black did is your fault. I read that journal, too. I know how smart and dangerous he was. Reeves, if he had thought for one moment that you knew anything about his other activities, you wouldn’t be here now. He would have killed you, too, and buried you out in the desert with the rest of the bodies. Or if he didn’t have the guts to do it himself, he’d have given you to Santos to play with.”

“The Good Lord had his angels watching over you, Ranger,” Jack chimed in from his spot by the door. “Just like he did our Gabriel. Both of you were meant for greater things.”

“No, I –”

“Son, how many people would be dead today if not for you?” the tracker demanded over Reeves’s protest. “How many criminals have you brought in? How many people are out there living better, safer lives because you were there to make it happen? The Lord does surely work in mysterious ways to bring a good man such as yourself into contact with the likes of Black and still make this world a better place because of it. Don’t let guilt over something you had no control over eat away at you. It’ll do nothing but cause unnecessary heartbreak, and you’ve got too much of your life ahead of you for that.”

“Don’t let Black and Santos win,” Orrin said intently, leaning over Sam to clasp a hand over the young man’s shoulder. “They’ve ruined enough lives, Reeves. Don’t let yours be one of them.”

Reeves stared up at the three men now surrounding his chair with wide-eyed astonishment. He’d expected condemnation after his confession, not this vehement exhortation of innocence, especially not from Chisholm and Horne. He’d nearly thrown up when he’d read Santos’s last journal and found out what that horror had done to Vasquez, a man even Santos called their brother. How could they believe him innocent when so much suffering could have been averted if he hadn’t been such a blind, naïve fool?

“Like Vasquez?” he choked out past the guilt filling his lungs and throat. “Is he – is he even still alive? The things Santos did …”

“He is,” Sam stated solemnly. “I won’t lie. Gabe’s got a long road ahead of him, and it’s going to be hard, real hard, but he’s not alone anymore. He’s with four of his brothers right now, helping him heal and keeping him safe, and Jack and I will join them soon. But what happened to him wasn’t your fault, either, son. Let it go.”

Reeves closed his eyes and shook his head, his fists curling up tighter until the knuckles cracked and turned white with his distress. His body shuddered once, hard, then once more, and his breath came in short, sharp pants. Alarmed, Orrin tightened his hand around the young man’s shoulder, coming around Sam’s crouched form to do what, he didn’t know. Sam also reached out towards Reeves, and Jack crowded up behind him.

Before any of them could do more, Reeves forced himself to take several deep, gulping breaths past the stranglehold constricting his chest until he could breathe almost normally. He straightened his fingers one by one until they laid flat on his thighs and ruthlessly stilled their trembling to something just barely noticeable. Finally, he opened his eyes and met their concerned looks with a steadiness that was only half-faked.

“I – thank you, all of you. I just – I don’t –” He chuffed out a small, disbelieving laugh and shook his head. He’d always been the articulate one, but proper words of gratitude eluded him right now. He settled for repeating, “Thank you.”

He pushed himself out of the high-backed chair, neatly side-stepping Sam, and asked, “Is the telegraph office still open?”

“Yes, Jasper won’t close up for another few hours yet,” Orrin answered.

Reeves glanced out the small window and gave a little start of surprise to see the sun still blazing away on the other side of the glass. It felt like it should be dark outside, as dark as he felt on the inside. He shook off the feeling as best he could and said, “Good. I’ll be back shortly.” Without another word, he left the other three men in the room to look after him with pity and concern.

It took three hours before Reeves came back to them, but when he did, he was carrying the necessary paperwork for the judge to sign to make Gabriel’s pardon official. He remained quiet and stone-faced throughout the remaining night, only softening a little at dinner at Evie’s fussing over him. He excused himself for bed early, but no one believed he slept much, the low light of a burning lamp seeping under his closed door at the wee hours of the morning evidence of that. 

After breakfast and good-byes with the Travis couple, Reeves followed Sam and Jack out to the stables. He waited until Jack had entered the building ahead of them and reached out to stop Sam with a touch to his arm.

“Something I can do for you, Ranger?” Sam asked, not unkindly.

“Yes. Here.” He held out a sheaf of papers to the other man.

Sam took them and turned them over curiously. “What’s this?” he asked, looking down at the two envelopes now in his hands.

Reeves took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then raised his head to look Sam straight in the eyes. “You know we had a bounty out on Mr. Vasquez because we thought he was The Butcher. Since he was the one who killed one of the actual Butchers, Commander Highsmith and I both agreed that the bounty money is rightfully his.” 

Reeve’s dark eyes briefly flickered away from Sam’s before he visibly forced himself to meet the older man’s patient gaze once more. “The second envelope is a letter from me to Mr. Vasquez. The Rangers owe him not just for taking down one of The Butchers, but also one hell of an apology for the mess we made of his life for the past eight years. It’s not much, but I wanted him to know how sorry I am. I leave it up to you whether or not you think he should get it.”

Sam tucked the letters into his shirt pocket then reached out a hand to the young man in front of him. “I’ll make sure he gets both, Ranger Reeves. You take care of yourself now.”

“You, too, Mr. Chisholm,” Reeves returned, his grip as strong and firm as it had been when they first met. He then stepped back and swung up onto his roan and left the small town at a much more sedate pace than he had entered it.

Jack stepped out of the shadow of the stable and silently led their horses to Sam’s side. “You think he’s going to be all right?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied quietly. “I hope so.” He tilted his head up to look at Jack. “You ready to go?”

“I am.” He heaved himself up into his saddle and peered down at his companion. “We’ve been gone too long, Sam. It’s high time we got back to our boys.”

It took but a moment for Sam to mimic his motion and touch the reins to turn his horse the opposite direction Reeves had taken out of town. “Amen to that.”


	10. Chapter 10

In a low, carrying tone, careful not to wake the man slumbering against his side, Joshua called out in disgruntled voice, “You know I can hear you all, right? What are you busybodies conniving over now?”

The three men on the other side of the door ceased their quiet conversation, and a few seconds later, Red Harvest came in with slight stumble and a disgruntled look of his own. If Joshua didn’t know better, he’d say the young man had been pushed into the room. The only man he knew brave enough to try that was Billy, so it was possible, he supposed with a faint inward grin. The healer folded his arms across his chest as he peered down at the pair from the foot of the bed. 

“Well? What is it this time?” Joshua demanded, rubbing at his burning eyes with the hand not holding Gabe in place. It had been a long night, full of night terrors and limbs made restless from withdrawal. The gambler hadn’t gotten any sleep, but he did have a few new bruises to add to his collection. Needless to say, his disposition wasn’t on the sunny side this morning. 

Red Harvest didn’t appear to be all that sunny himself this morning. “I want to give Gabriel a proper bath today. I need to make sure that his wounds are not infected. Billy and Goodnight are getting it ready now.”

“Okay, sounds like a good idea,” Joshua agreed cautiously. “Why couldn’t you just say so?”

“I just did,” the young man grunted. “I do not want to wake Gabriel if we do not have to. I will need your help to get him to the tub.”  
“Course,” Joshua said, eyes narrowing in suspicion at the healer, but even with all the years he’d known him, Red Harvest could still be a blank slate when he chose. The gambler shook his head and got moving.

He carefully scooted out from under Gabe’s sleep-heavy body, waited a breathless moment to see if he would wake, then swung his feet to the floor. He circled the bed and gently rolled Gabe into his arms. The injured man’s eyes fluttered at the extra movement, a small sigh escaping past his chapped lips. Joshua held still, holding his breath until Gabe’s head found its place under his chin and the soft snoring started up again.

A small part of his brain noticed a tantalizing smell when he entered the small living area and his neglected stomach gave a low growl of appreciation, but he ignored it to keep his gait even and steady as he followed Red Harvest. Goody and Billy were each dumping a bucket of steaming water into a large, ornate clawfoot tub in the middle of the room. Joshua figured they must have hauled it down from the ranch house. They already had it filled over halfway full. 

The gambler waited until they stepped back and lowered his somnolent burden down into the warm water, Goody reaching down to gently position Gabe’s head against a folded piece of cloth on the sloped head of the tub. Once Joshua was sure that his brother was settled, he reached for the soap and washcloth balanced on an upside-down bucket beside the tub.

Strong fingers circled his wrist. “Why don’t you let Red do that?”

Joshua stared up at Goody in confusion. “Why? I can do it. It’s just a bath, how hard can it be?”

“Glad you think so, cause you’re getting one, too,” Billy declared as he stepped around his partner. He tossed a bundle of clothes at him that Joshua just barely managed to keep from falling into the water with Gabe.

“Excuse me?” Joshua’s voice rose past the low tones, and Gabe stirred restively under his arm. Joshua shushed him back into calm then glared up at an unapologetic assassin. “You want to say that again?”

“You’re taking a bath, too,” Billy dutifully repeated. “Only you and I are going to take a walk down to the creek while Red and Goody take care of Gabe. It’s a beautiful day, I’m sure the water isn’t too cold.”

Joshua’s brows lowered in incredulous irritation. “You can’t be serious.”

“You stink,” Red Harvest announced bluntly. “So does he. So does the bedroom. Go bathe, _pabi._ It won’t take long, and then everyone and everything will smell better.”

“We’ve already taken ours, Joshua.” Goodnight chimed in. “Despite what my charmin’ partner has claimed, the water is actually quite refreshin’.” Goody paused then knelt down level to the gambler. “Joshua, ya need a break. Ya need ta take care of y’self so you c’n take care of Gabriel. We’re all here ta support you, _frère_ , ta support ya both, but you got ta let us.” 

Joshua shook his head inchoate denial. Goody caught his head between his hands and gently forced him to meet his eyes. “Yes, Joshua. Go with Billy. Take dat bath. I promise ya dat Red an’ I will take good care of Gabriel. Once you get back, we’ll get both of ya fed wit’ some of dat stew dat Billy’s been workin’ on all morning.”

Joshua jerked his head free of Goodnight’s grip to stare first at the stove, which indeed had a bubbling pot sitting atop it, then up at the Korean. “You cooked?”

A kind of hush fell over the room at his disbelieving question. Billy was easily the best cook out of the lot of them. He could do amazing things with very few ingredients, but none of them ever asked it of him. Not now, not anymore. Before, he would make dinner for them all when the mood struck him, though he never said where he had learned to make such excellent dishes. 

But that all changed three years ago. He had been quiet all day, keeping to himself as he prepared a meal for them. Not even Goodnight could get much from him. In an effort to cheer him up, and because it was the plain damn truth, they had all sung his praises. Even Red Harvest had seemed to appreciate his efforts. Yet, instead of subtly basking in the compliments as he was wont to do, Billy had uncharacteristically decided to share something of his past. 

With words that often stumbled into Korean before he righted them back into English, Billy had quietly revealed that he had spent all of his childhood and most of his young adulthood in the kitchens of several different mansions along the California coast. He hadn’t said anymore on the subject, but everyone had understood what he had left unsaid. Billy hadn’t cooked for anyone since then, not even Goodnight. 

Until today, apparently. Billy met Joshua’s incredulous look calmly, his chin tilting up slightly as he answered. “Yes. This stew is nourishing and easy to stomach. It will be good for both of you.”

Joshua closed his eyes then wrapped one hand around the edge of the tub and pushed himself to his feet. He looked down at the bundle of clothes clenched in his other hand before transferring his gaze to the smaller man. “Thank you, Billy.”

Billy tilted his head down in a half nod in acknowledgement. “You ready for that bath now? You still stink.”

The gambler gave a faint snort of laughter. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go.” He glanced back down at the sleeping man in the tub. "Sooner we leave, the sooner we can get back, right?”

“Right,” Goodnight replied softly. He gingerly lifted Gabe’s arm from the water with his broken hand and began unwrapping the rust-colored bandage from the Mexican’s healing wrist with his good one. “Go, de both of you. Red an’ I got dis.”

Conceding defeat with reluctant grace, Joshua allowed himself to be herded out the front door. Red Harvest watched them leave, pausing long enough to make sure Joshua wasn’t going to try and sneak back in somehow. Once satisfied, he knelt on the other side of the tub and mirrored Goody’s actions, removing bandages and cleaning wounds with soft, gentle strokes of a soap-soaked cloth. He carefully examined each injury for infection, but no matter how soft his touch, the poking and prodding soon woke Gabriel into a half-dazed awareness. 

Thankfully, Gabriel didn’t seem to want to fight them this time. He instead contented himself with following their movements with the kind of calm that comes from extreme weariness. He flinched from time to time whenever a particularly sensitive area was touched but otherwise he remained quiet and passive. Once Red Harvest was satisfied that most of his wounds were free of infection, he nodded at Goodnight and, together, they wrestled him carefully out of the tub and onto dry blankets beside it on the floor. 

While Goodnight left to change the bedding with the fresh bedclothes he and Billy had retrieved from the ranch house with the tub, Red Harvest patted Gabriel dry with another blanket and folded the last in the stack over him to keep him warm as he searched out the few injuries that did have some lingering infection in them. Gabriel’s right ankle and wrist both weren’t healing the way he’d like, and there were a few burns on his stomach that looked just as angry now as they had days ago. 

The bruising around the shoulder that had been dislocated repeatedly had yet to fade to shades of green and yellow, too. It really should be bound to keep it from popping out of the socket again, but the healer was afraid of the mental agitation it would cause if he did so. Any type of restraint, even something as well-meaning as an arm around him or a sling to support his shoulder, still had the potential to plunge Gabriel right back into the nightmares of his captivity. Binding his arm to his chest just wasn’t worth the trauma it could cause. They would just have to keep a close eye on his shoulder, and hopefully, Gabriel’s spirit would recover enough to recognize that they were trying to help and not hurt him soon. Red Harvest shook his head as he smoothed salve and bandages over the infected places. Trust even his wounds to be as stubborn as the man himself. 

Goodnight came back in time to help him finish tying off the last of the bandages, Gabriel now beginning to tremble from more than the chilly spring air, though he remained silent. Swaddling the man in the blankets, Red Harvest carefully hooked his arms under Gabriel’s shoulders and knees and stood to carry him back to his bed.

As large a man as he was, the outlaw looked small and pale against the sheets once Red Harvest set him down. It wasn’t so noticeable when he shared the bed with Joshua’s considerable bulk beside him, but now it was easy to see how the fever and withdrawal had pared down Gabriel’s flesh until his skin stretched taut over his bones. He needed to eat to gain back what he’d lost, and hopefully, the dish Billy had prepared would be enough to tempt his normally voracious appetite. 

That wasn’t all his _pabi_ needed, the younger man knew. Gabriel needed dreamless sleep to make the dark smudges under his eyes fade away. He needed the hurting to stop so he could stop flinching at every little movement he made. He needed to feel safe. Red Harvest could do much with his potions and his training, but more needed doing if Gabriel was to heal. 

“We need to leave this place,” the healer declared quietly as he smoothed back curls from Gabriel’s forehead. Gabriel had closed his eyes, his chest moving with soft, even breaths, but Red Harvest knew he didn’t sleep. He wouldn’t until Joshua returned. 

“Why do ya say dat?” Goody asked quietly, tucking the blankets just that bit more securely around the wounded man. He trailed the fingers of his good hand down over Gabriel’s arm before falling back to his side, hand curling unconsciously into a fist. 

Red Harvest pulled the sharpshooter further away from the bed and spoke in even softer tones. “He doesn’t feel safe here, Goodnight. He doesn’t let himself rest because he fears another attack, even with us here to watch over and protect him. It’s a little better with Joshua at his side, but it’s not enough. We need to take him home.”

Goody looked over at the still, curled figure on the bed. “Are ya sure dat’s wise? Shouldn’t we wait until he’s a bit stronger? I’ve seen men in betta condition den he is now die from dere wounds when moved too soon.”

“The longer we wait, the weaker he will become. He cannot stay here,” Red Harvest replied decisively. “We must find a way to get him back to the cabin.”

The older man’s eyes narrowed in thought. He suddenly snapped his fingers and jabbed one in the air between the two of them. “I t’ink I have just da t’ing. When de others get back, I’ll go check ta make sure it’s still dere.”

Red Harvest didn’t ask. Either whatever it was would be there or it wouldn’t, and if not, they would come up with another plan. Instead, he gestured to the wet bandages limply circling Goodnight’s broken hand and said, “Let me change that.”

Goody opened his mouth, whether to agree or protest Red Harvest would never know, as Joshua strode through the half-opened door and nearly plowed right over them.

***

Josh could admit, grudgingly and only to himself, that a bath had been a good idea. The water had been as refreshing as promised, perhaps a bit too refreshing, but he did feel a little more human after a good scrub down. Now, though, he just wanted to get back to Gabe and see how his bath had gone.

Billy made no move to stop him as he strode back up the path leading to their temporary quarters. Instead, he silently shadowed his steps until they were inside the shack, then he split off from Josh to go check on the progress of his stew. Josh kept on going until he was once again inside the little bedroom, nearly barreling into Red and Goody who were right on the other side of the door.

Before he had a chance to tell them off, Josh found himself pinned by Gabe’s incurious, almost indifferent, gaze. Gabe hadn’t been awake for more than a few moments at a time since he spoke the word _guero_ , and Josh was desperate to hear him speak again. He moved towards the bed without any conscious decision to do so and perched on the side of the bed.

“Hey there, _hermanito_ , it’s good to see you awake,” the gambler said softly, a smile spreading across his face as something close to recognition dawned in Gabe’s dark eyes. “How’re you doin’?”

The outlaw slid his hand out from under the blankets and stretched it out to Josh.  
“ _Guero_?”

Josh caught the hand between both of his own and squeezed gently. “ _Si, soy yo._

Gabe pushed himself up onto one elbow, studying his face intently. His words came fast and broken. “ _Estás herido? Josué, por favor, estás herido?_ ”

“ _Herido_? No, Gabe, I ain’t hurt.” He flattened Gabe’s hand over his chest and let him feel the steady rhythm of his heart and lungs. “See, I’m just fine. You don’t need to worry about me, Gabe. You just worry about getting yourself better. Actually, you don’t worry about anythin’ at all. I’ve got you.” 

He reached down and curved a hand around the bed-ridden man’s stubbled face. He absently stroked his thumb over Gabe’s cheekbone as he held the younger man’s gaze, trying to convey as much sincerity as he could with his own eyes. He leaned down until they were almost touching noses. 

“No one’s gonna hurt either of us, okay? We’re safe, Gabe. All of us are.” He paused a moment, thinking over his next words then mentally shrugged. He was sure they were true, even if they hadn’t heard back from Jack and Sam yet. “They’re dead, Gabe. All of the bastards that hurt you are dead. They ain’t hurting anyone anymore.”

Gabe’s face crumpled at his gentle reassurance. He looked torn between wanting to believe Josh and utterly incapable of doing so. His breathing grew erratic, and he freed his other hand from the bedding to pat haphazardly at his brother’s body. Josh’s lips tightened in resigned frustration. Billy had told them about the outlaw’s last waking and his overwhelming fear for Josh’s safety. That fear lit his eyes now and leant a franticness to his touch. Damn those sons of bitches for stealing Gabe’s peace along with everything else they did to him!

Josh caught the roaming hand with one of his own, kicked off his boots, and swung his feet back up onto the bed. Gabe let out a small whimper, and he wasted no time pressing in close to his brother’s strong body. He curved his arm over Josh’s chest and clung with all the weak strength he possessed. Dampness spread against the cloth of the gambler’s clean shirt. Josh squeezed him softly back in return and hummed a tuneless lullaby into the top of Gabe’s head. 

It took some time, but Gabe eventually settled into a sort of quiet trance, his hand twitching every so often against the older man’s side. One of Joshua’s hands migrated into his dark curls, the tips of his fingers rubbing against Gabriel’s scalp in soothing circles as the two men’s breathing slowly fell into synch. 

Joshua was jolted from his near trance by the same delicious smell he’d detected earlier in the living room. His stomach cramped and gurgled its appreciation of the smell, and he looked up to find Billy standing by the bed with a steaming mug in each hand. The Korean raised an eyebrow at him in question, holding out one of the mugs to him. 

Joshua took the mug then tilted his head down towards the one resting on his chest. “Hey, Gabe, Billy cooked something just for you. Can you try and eat some of it?” He spoke in quiet, encouraging tones. “You gotta be hungry.”

Gabriel stirred, either at his words or the wonderful smells coming the mug, and with Joshua’s help, gingerly shifted into a half-sitting position. Leaning heavily into the gambler’s side, Gabriel reached for the mug, but he couldn’t keep a steady grip on the handle. Joshua wrapped his fingers around Gabriel’s and helped guide the mug up to his mouth. The outlaw looked up at Joshua over the rim of the mug, eyes searching his, before he opened his mouth and took his first swallow. 

His eyes widened as the taste of the stew hit his tongue. He tightened his fingers around the mug and began to greedily drink down more. “Whoa, whoa, slow down, Gabe,” Joshua cautioned, tugging the mug back a bit. “Don’t make yourself sick. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Gabriel nodded, licking his lips, his eyes on the stew. Joshua grinned at this little display of normalcy and tipped the mug back up for him to continue eating. Gabriel drained both mugs and half of a third before he finally felt full. He shifted restlessly against the gambler as Joshua twisted to set the last mug down on the bedside table. His eyes blinked up at him when the other man turned back to him, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, obviously trying to keep himself awake. A warm bath and a full stomach were generally a good recipe for sleep, but sleep had been the enemy for so long now and Gabe had always been a fighter. Joshua smiled sadly down him and swept his hand up and down Gabriel’s back in a light, soothing fashion.

“Gabe, close your eyes,” he said in a low voice. Brown eyes widened in sleepy panic, and Gabriel began to shake his head in denial. “Ssh, ssh. It’s okay, Gabe. You don’t have to sleep, I just want you to try and get some rest. It’s okay. I’m right here, and I’ve got you.”

Even with Joshua’s quiet reassurances and undeniable presence, the wounded man still fought all the way down into an uneasy slumber. The gambler kept up his quiet litany of promises until some of that uneasiness faded from the tense frame, and Gabriel relaxed into a deeper sleep. Josh reached behind himself to adjust the pillow into a better position between the headboard and his back and settled in for another shift of standing guard over his brother’s dreams.

He startled a little when something hot nudged at his arm. “Here,” Billy said, tapping a full mug of stew against his arm one more time. “Eat this. You need it as much as he did.”

Josh took the proffered mug without any further prompting. He sputtered and had to force himself to slowness after the first mouthful. Not just because the contents were the most delicious thing he’s tasted in a damn long time, but also because they were too damned hot. Billy smirked at the face he made as he settled down into the chair beside the bed with his own mug. 

They sat together in companionable silence, Billy passing him a second mug from the nightstand once he’d drained the first. As he savored the second helping – damn, but Billy could cook! – Josh could hear the faint murmur of Goodnight and Red Harvest talking in the next room, and he smiled blearily down into his mug. Everyone present and accounted for then, as good as it was going to get until Gabe got better and Jack and Sam came back to them …

Billy deftly caught the mug before the remaining contents could spill over Josh’s lap. He stood and carefully eased the gambler into a more comfortable position then stood back to observe his handiwork. He nodded to himself in satisfaction. It wasn’t an ideal solution and he probably wouldn’t be able to get away with it again without Joshua figuring out what he was doing, but at least this once both younger men would get some much-needed sleep. He’d had to tweak the dosage a little and the stew recipe itself so it wouldn’t be noticeable, but the amount of opium he’d laced the dish with should keep them both under for more than a few hours.

Gathering up the empty dishware, Billy left the two men slumbering on the bed and closed the door mostly shut behind him. Red Harvest and Goody turned to him expectantly, and twin looks of relief crossed their faces when he raised the mugs in answer. He slid into the chair next to Goodnight, close enough to bump shoulders, and set the mugs down onto the table in front of him. 

Red Harvest regarded the pair of them gravely. “We need to return home. It is not only Gabriel who does not feel safe in this place. The longer we stay here, the longer we risk retaliation for the destruction of the ranch. Goodnight, you said you had a way to get Gabriel home. What did you mean?”

“Give us twenty minutes.” The sharpshooter stood up and nodded up at Billy to include him in his scheming. “Thirty at de most. We’ll bring back what ya an’ dose boys in dere need. C’mon, _mon amour_ , we’ve got work dat needs doin’.”

Not even bothering to ask what his partner had in mind this time, Billy silently filed after Goody, and Red Harvest was left alone in the room. He checked one more time to make sure that Gabriel and Joshua were still sleeping peacefully then turned his attention to the belongings of his brothers strewn about the room. 

Most of Billy’s things were neatly packed away, but he had left a few of his knives and his sharpening kit on the table. Goodnight had books and clothes scattered all over, and the blanket from his bedroll laid crumpled in one of the chairs. Joshua’s dirty clothes hadn’t made it back into his pack, too intent on reaching Gabriel again that he had just carelessly tossed them in the general direction of his pack and moved on. Anything else of his would be in the sick room.

For once, Red Harvest had more things littering the small space than the others. He usually was very careful to keep all his belongings in one place, but the necessity of using everything he had in his pack to help Gabriel meant that all his medicines, mixing bowls, and bandages covered every flat surface close to the stove. Taking inventory of what he had left, what he could restock with the plants available, and what they would need to stop in a town to get more of, the healer set aside what he thought he would need to make Gabriel comfortable for a long journey and packed up the rest. 

He went through the small room, picking up and putting away what he could for his brothers and leaving what he knew they would prefer to pack up themselves. The knives and the books, especially, remained untouched. He then turned to the saddle and bags tossed into one corner.

These belonged to Gabriel. Joshua had insisted on bringing them along after they had found Diego’s dead body, not that anyone had objected, and they had hastily stowed them away before raiding the ranch. Now, he dug into the saddlebags and pulled out Gabriel’s spare set of clothes. They would be much too large for him with all the weight he’d lost, but that was actually a good thing at the moment. The looser the fit, the less his wounds would be aggravated. He folded the shirt and pants over the back of one chair then closed up the bags again and arranged them neatly with all the other bags beside the door.

Once he had done all he could to reduce the time spent packing, Red Harvest picked up his quiver and bow and sat down at the table. Keeping his hearing trained on both the bedroom and the outside, he pulled out all his arrows and set them on the wooden surface in front of him. He carefully inspected each one, from the sharpness of the points to the solidness of the shafts to the precision of the fletching, to make sure none had been damaged. They had to fly true when he needed them on the journey back, whether that meant for food or for defense. 

He had made it half-way through his cache when he heard the rumble of horses and a wagon through the open window. He shot a quick look over at the bedroom door then cautiously crossed the floor to the front entrance. He left his bow by the table and instead slipped his gun from his belt, listening carefully for any sounds of hostility, before a familiar voice hailed him.

“Red, come on out here an’ see what we brought ya!” Goodnight yelled cheerfully from the other side of the front door. 

Shaking his head at the older man’s exuberant shout, Red Harvest holstered the gun and walked outside. One brow rose in surprise at the sight of Goody’s “gift.” The sharpshooter grinned down at him from the seat of a slightly battered but still sturdy covered wagon. A pair of strong-looking horses stood patiently in front of it, one snatching at bits of new spring grass while the other, a bay with a white blaze across his nose, eyed Red Harvest alertly. The young native took a step back to survey the entirety of the vehicle and nodded in satisfaction.

“This is good.”

“Glad you approve,” Billy said as he came around the side of the wagon, lighting a cigarette as he walked. He handed it to Goodnight when the other man jumped down from the seat to land beside him and began rolling a second one for himself. “We filled the back with clean straw and laid some blankets over top of them. It should keep Gabe from being too jostled, and there’s plenty of room for Josh and any supplies we want to take with us.” 

“It’s like one of dose miracles Jack’s always talkin’ ‘bout. Everyt’ing else Santo’s men used fer cover is full o’ holes, but dis,” Goody patted the side of the wagon fondly, “dis only got a few scrapes an’ gouges. Now, we can keep Gabriel outta da weather an’ get him home in style.”

Red Harvest nodded again and said, “We will leave at first light tomorrow. I want to leave as soon as possible for the good of them both; but they are both sleeping soundly right now, and I don’t want to wake them.”

“There’s only a few more hours of daylight anyway,” Billy pointed out. “It’ll be better to get a fresh start tomorrow. It will also give us more time to scavenge more supplies from the ranch house.”

“I will also need to gather more herbs before we go.”

“Why don’ ya go do dat while de boys are sleepin’?” Goodnight suggested. “Betta now den when dere awake an’ might need ya. Billy can go up ta da ranch house an’ get what he c’n find dere, an’ I’ll keep an eye on our Sleeping Beauties.”

Both younger men nodded their acquiescence and went about their assigned tasks.  
Goodnight watched them go as he absently patted the blaze-faced mare on the nose.

“Well, girl, I guess it’s jist us now. Let’s get ya and yer sister settled for de night wit’ some oats and a nice corral with a few new friends, how’s dat sound?”

The horse neighed and nuzzled his shoulder in agreement. Goody laughed at her antics and led the way back to the corral.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait, but I hope this makes up for it!

They did not leave the next morning. Whether Billy had overestimated the amount of opium he’d laced the stew with or Gabriel and Josh were just that exhausted or perhaps a combination of the two, the sleeping pair hadn’t stirred until well into the early afternoon of the next day. While Josh and Gabe were each happy in their own way to be going home, the lateness of the hour once again made leaving impractical, so they mutually decided to wait until the following morning to head out.

It gave Billy and Goodnight more time to thoroughly pilfer the ranch house for supplies and to find an unexpected treasure. While taking a wild, wicked sort of pleasure in ransacking the master bedroom, Goody knocked over a cigar box on the nightstand, the contents of which spilled onto the floor. The box hadn’t held cigars, though. Instead, a trove of shiny objects lay scattered over the plush green carpet. Curious despite himself, the sharpshooter knelt to see what they were. A pocket watch, a woman’s silver bracelet, cufflinks, a magnifying glass, and other assorted odds and ends, and finally something he hadn’t expected.

Gabriel’s medallion.

And suddenly Goodnight knew what these objects were.

Trophies. Souvenirs of Santos’ victims, small things to remember them by. All of them lovingly polished and cared for and worn from much handling. The monster had spent a lot of time remembering, apparently.

Dear God, there were so _many_.

Bile rose up in the back of Goody’s throat, and it took all he had to swallow it back down. With shaking fingers, he plucked the medallion from the macabre pile, carefully wrapped the silver disc up in his handkerchief, and tucked the small bundle into his breast pocket. He’d return it to Gabriel once he’d woken up.

The rest of the trinkets he scooped back up into the box and took it with him. He would never know all the poor souls these items belonged to, and the Good Lord alone knew what Santos had done with their earthly remains; the only thing he could do now was bury the last pieces of them with the respect and dignity denied them in life.

Billy and Red Harvest joined him in silent support as he dug a shallow grave behind the shack they’d temporarily claimed. He picked a spot underneath a willow tree beside the babbling creek for their last resting place. The words he spoke were few but heartfelt, and Goody hoped that whoever the owners of these trophies were, they were now finally at peace.

Returning the medallion to Gabriel proved much more satisfying. Goodnight waited until the younger man had woken fully and eaten another meal prepared by Billy before settling on the mattress next to him and Joshua. Gabriel looked up with quiescent curiosity from where he rested against Joshua’s shoulder as Goody reached into his pocket. His bland expression transformed into one of shocked delight, and he shot out a hand to grasp at the medallion dangling on the end of its leather cord.

“Where did you find this?” Gabriel gasped, turning the small piece of metal over and over between his fingers, trailing the leather over his palms, overcome with the reality of its return. “H-h-he took it from me the first day. I n-never thought I’d see it again.”

“It doesn’t matta where I found it, _cher_ , jist dat I did. May I?” Goodnight gently took the necklace back. He leaned in close and knotted the cord around the wounded man’s neck. He used one finger to move the medallion into place at the base of Gabriel’s throat. “Dere, dat’s betta.”

Gabriel clutched his fingers around the talisman that had never left its spot from his neck since it had been given to him years before by a lonely little girl. It was one of his few possessions, something that could easily travel with him no matter how hard he had to run, and as such had become quite precious to him.

Before becoming an outlaw, Gabriel had spent quite a few summers working on various ranches north and south of the border as a vaquero. During one such summer, only a few years after he had left his own home and family behind, he had come across the owner’s daughter. She had been no more than ten years old and had been playing by herself in a small garden behind the stables. He had stopped to say hello, and she had offered him a flower and told him her name was Maria. Smiling, he had introduced himself in turn and tucked the flower into the brim of his hat. From there, a friendship had bloomed. 

Gabriel had seen how neglected she was. Neither of her parents seemed to have time for her, and she had no other siblings or playmates. It was such a stark contrast to his own lively, family-filled upbringing, and he couldn’t help but feel for her. So, he had made it a point to speak to Maria every day, despite all the teasing he got from the other vaqueros, and he did little things like eat picnics with her and regale her with stories of his own childhood. It was one of the best summers he’d spent away from his family.

His heart had been heavy as he’d taken his leave of Maria when the time came for him to move on. She’d been so brave, his _hermanita_ , not letting a tear fall as she followed him to the stable to say good-bye. Gabriel had gone to one knee to give her a hug, and she’d clung to him for long seconds before pulling back. It was then that she’d shyly held out a small box to him. 

Inside was a medallion of San Martin Caballero, the patron saint of horsemen and good luck. He didn’t know how she’d managed to find such a thing, but looking down into her wide, hopeful eyes, there was no way he was going to refuse such a gift. He’d bent his head to let her tie it around his neck. He then kissed her lightly on the forehead before swinging up onto the back of his horse. He had turned at the top of the hill to wave one last time to the little girl watching him from atop the fence. She waved wildly back until he rode out of sight. 

Gabriel had found out later that winter that the ranch house had caught fire, and everyone inside it had died in the blaze. His beautiful _hermanita_ had been one of them. He had cried for her that night and for everything she might have become, and he had never, ever forgotten her.

The medallion had never since left his neck.

Until Santos.

The negligible pain caused by one of the scouts tearing the necklace from his neck was nothing to the pain in his heart at the loss of Maria’s gift. Momentarily ignoring the arrow in his side, he’d made the mistake of fighting to get it back, swearing and spitting at his captors and managing to land a few blows before being beaten down into the dirt. Santos had laughed and laughed and swung the medallion in front of his bruised eyes before making a show of tucking it away into his pocket.

And now, incredibly, it had been given back. Eyes shining with unshed tears, Gabriel stretched out the hand not wrapped around the metal saint to Goodnight. Goody took the hand in his as the outlaw whispered, “ _Gracias, hermano, gracias_.”

The older man squeezed his hand gently and answered in a tone just as gentle. “No danks are necessary, _mon frère_ , I’m jist glad it’s back where it belongs. As are you.”

A tremulous smile graced Gabriel’s face, and Goody couldn’t help but pull him into a careful embrace. The two of them sat there for a little while until Gabriel’s weight began to fall more heavily on the other man. Murmuring soft words of comfort into his ear, Goodnight eased him back onto the pillows. Gabriel was asleep within seconds, for once a look of peace instead of pain on his face, his hand never letting go of the returned necklace.

“So, where exactly did you find it?” Joshua asked suddenly.

Goodnight looked up into the shadowed green eyes and gave some serious thought to lying about his discovery. A truthful answer wouldn’t necessarily be a helpful one, especially to one already so burdened by grief and guilt. The gambler didn’t need to know that their brother was the last in a very long line of a nostalgic madman’s victims. With a smile he knew wouldn’t convince the younger man, Goody shrugged and settled on a half-truth.

“Up at de house. It was luck more dan anyt’ing else dat let me find it. I’m jist glad for Gabriel’s sake dat it wasn’t lost permanently.”

Joshua stared hard at him for a moment then, much to Goody’s relief, let it go. “Me, too. Thanks.”

Goodnight’s smile was more genuine this time, and he patted Joshua’s blanket-covered leg before getting up from the bed. “ _Mon plaisir, cher_. Is dere anyt’ing I can get you?”

Joshua glanced down at the man sleeping peacefully beside him. He really hoped that Gabe would sleep that well through the rest of the night, but recent experience made it something he wouldn’t willingly bet on right now. He needed to be ready for that.

“Some coffee would be nice.” 

Goody regarded him contemplatively for a moment or two then before he shook his head and made a self-derisive sound. “I really shouldn’ be enablin’ you.”

“What?” Joshua asked with suspicion.

“I should be tellin’ you ta rest,” the Cajun started. He held up a hand to stop Joshua’s automatic protest, speaking a little louder to be heard over him. “ _But_ \- I remember how dis one was when it was you ailin’ in de bed after de Gatlin’ gun.” He swallowed, and his voice became softer, sadder. “An’ I know how I’d be if it were Billy lyin’ dere.

“So, I gonna get you dat coffee,” he continued, dropping his hand onto the gambler’s shoulder and giving it a little shake, “as long as you promise ta remember what I tol’ you yesterday, what we’ve all bin tryin’ ta prove from da beginnin’. You don’ have ta do dis alone, Joshua. I know Gabriel means da world ta you, but we – Billy an’ Red Harvest an’ me – well, we love him, too, an’ want ta help him jist as much as you do, _tu comprends_?”

“Goody, I’m not – I couldn’t – of course I know that you want to help him!” Joshua exclaimed in soft tones. “He’d be dead by now if Red Harvest didn’t know how to heal him, or crazy if Billy didn’t sing for him when the pain rides him hard, or out of his mind with fear if you didn’t let him rebreak your hand every time he can’t tell the difference between Red’s medicines and the poisons those bastards fed him. It’s just – I can’t – I have to stay with him. I can’t leave him alone after everything he’s been through. I can’t.”

“I’m not askin’ ya to, _cher_. I wouldn’t eva ask ya ta do dat,” Goodnight reassured him gently. “None of us would. Jist promise me, an’ I’ll go git ya dat coffee.”

He watched as Joshua wrestled with what answer to give him. He might be the biggest cheat when it came to strangers, but the gambler had made it a point never to lie to any of their small circle during the past few years. Stretch the truth, yes, mislead or misdirect, certainly, but never outright lie. If he gave his word, it would be kept, and they both knew it. 

Goodnight also knew how hard it would be for the younger man to let them help. Independence and sheer stubborn cussedness had been ingrained in the gambler since his youth, and, even after five years together, he still found it difficult to relinquish any kind of control. But this promise the Cajun would insist upon; he wasn’t about to lose them both to long-held habits that were completely unnecessary now.

“I promise.” 

The words were spoken so quietly, in such a ragged tone, that Goodnight almost missed them. But hear them he did, and he smiled through his own weariness at Joshua’s courage. He squeezed the shoulder under his hand.

“Dank you, _frère_. One pipin’ hot, black as sin, cuppa coffee comin’ up. Mebbe I should add a bit of sugar ta it, I don’ know how ya drink it so bitta …” Goodnight muttered to himself, just loud enough to be heard from the bed, as he headed for the bedroom door. 

He smiled when he heard Joshua hiss behind him. “Goodnight Robicheaux, I swear if there’s anything besides coffee in that cup, you’ll be wearin’ it!”

***

A subdued excitement filled the air the next morning as the five men prepared to go home. Billy had made breakfast for all of them, something they were all grateful for, then he and Goody had provisioned the wagon and readied their horses in record time. Red Harvest had re-bandaged and salved the infected wounds, ran a critical eye over the other injuries, and handed Gabriel’s spare set of clothes to Josh.

Clasping the taller man’s shoulder on his way out, the healer inclined his head at the gently steaming mug of a pain-killing tea on the nightstand. “Try to get him to drink that. He will need it for today’s travels,” he said quietly. 

Easier said than done. Now that Gabe was more alert, he refused to drink the tea, no matter how much the other coaxed and begged, until he couldn’t stand the pain any longer. That was usually an hour or two beyond what his brothers thought needful, and it about killed them all to watch him suffer when relief was so close at hand. He’d grudgingly taken a dose over four hours ago, and he was still feeling the lingering effects. Getting him to drink any now would be as nearly an impossible a task as convincing Wild Jack to let a stranger strap a saddle to his back.

Josh dipped his head once in acknowledgement and watched silently as the young man left the two of them alone. The gambler laid out the clothes on the end of the bed then turned his attention to the man reclining there. Gabe followed his movements with weary eyes as he took a seat beside him. Red’s exam, brief as it had been, had sapped what little strength Gabe’s battered body had regained in two days’ worth of rest and proper meals, and it showed in the strained lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. Josh fought back a frown and reached for the tea. 

“Well, I guess it’s just you an’ me now, Gabe,” he said as conversationally as he could, the mug cradled between his palms. “All we gotta do is get you dressed and then we can head home. But first, I want you to try and drink some of this for me, okay? Well, it’s for Red’s sake, more than mine. I think he’s getting’ a little jealous of the way you eat Billy’s cookin’ but won’t drink his teas.” 

Gabe predictably turned his head away from the mug when Josh held it to his lips. The gambler’s mouth tightened, but he kept up the conversational tone, letting a little of his worry and concern bleed through. “Gabe, I know that it don’t taste the greatest, but we’re goin’ to have to move you around a lot today. Please, _hermano_ , I don’t like seeing you hurtin’. I promise you, Gabe, _I promise_ , that I will keep you safe. You don’t have to keep watch. I’ve got you." 

Once he’d spoken his piece, Josh held his breath and waited as a series of complicated expressions flitted across the injured man’s face. He didn’t know what he’d do if Gabe refused again, and Josh ached to know why he was so paranoid about everyone else’s safety over his own health. Ever since the first time he’d properly awoken, panicked and pawing at Josh’s chest, Gabe had taken to reaching for each of them whenever they were close enough, listening for them, too, head tilting in an almost-birdlike fashion whenever he heard their voices or footsteps, reassuring himself constantly through touch and sound that they were really there and not some figment of his tortured imagination. 

The gambler brushed his thumb in gentle, sweeping arcs over the bruised skin under one dark eye. His little brother was doing himself no favors with his obsessive need to keep track of them all, but any time one of them asked him why, he got real quiet and wouldn’t – or couldn’t – look anyone in the eye. 

None of them knew what they were going to do when he finally noticed Sam and Jack’s absence. 

Gabe leaned into Josh’s soft touch, but his eyes tracked between the gambler’s face and the dreaded tea. The silence stretched on and on as the Mexican struggled to make his decision, Josh struggling not to influence him into anything he didn’t want. Just before the tension between them grew to be too much and Josh was ready to tell him to just forget it, Gabe raised a hand to curl shaking fingers around Josh’s on the mug. He closed his eyes and drank deep.

After Gabe managed to choke down the contents in the mug, Josh gave him a few minutes to recover while he tried to figure out the best way get Gabe dressed. He’d never had to do this for someone else before, and he really wished Red had stuck around long enough to give him some pointers. Blowing out a breath, Josh decided that the best way to get him dressed was to get him upright first. Sliding an arm beneath Gabe’s shoulders, he got him into a sitting position on the side of the bed.

Murmuring words of encouragement, he kept his arms around Gabe’s trembling form for a full minute to make sure he could stay seated on his own. He waited for the nod against his shoulder before slowly letting go. Taking the clean pants from the end of the bed, he shook them out and crouched down at the other man’s bare feet. 

“Let’s see what we can do about getting you into some clothes, huh?”

Gabe gave him a weary, frustrated look but nodded again, his body swaying without Joshua’s steadying presence beside him. Josh nodded back and tried to hurry as much as he could and still be gentle. He managed to slip Gabe’s feet into both pant legs before the outlaw lost the battle for balance. His scored wrists, his shoulder, they were too sore and too weak to stop the slow forward pitch towards the floor. Lost in the struggle with the pants, Josh didn’t realize what was happening until he felt a warm weight awkwardly pressing down into his bowed shoulders.

“Hey, whoa there, Gabe!” he exclaimed, abandoning the clothing to wrap his arms around the other man to stop his descent. He felt more than heard the little noises of distress Gabe was making deep in his chest, and he cursed himself for a damned fool for not being more careful. He was supposed to be making things easier for Gabe, not making them worse. “Sorry, sorry, should have realized you ain’t ready to be upright on your own yet. Here we go, you just lie back and let me do all the work. We’ll have you dressed in no time.”

Once Josh had him comfortably nestled back into the blankets, he made to pull back to resume his task. Gabe had other ideas. He made a tiny, miserable sound and scrabbled weakly at Josh’s arms to keep him close. The gambler obliged, leaning back in and rolling his forehead gently against Gabe’s clammy one. 

“Aw, Gabe, I’m sorry,” he apologized again, pulling the injured man into a close embrace, “but it’s gonna get better, I promise. We’ll get some clothes on you so you don’t freeze, then we’ll get out to this wagon Goody an’ Billy found for you and head on home. I’ll bet you’ll feel a whole lot better sleepin’ in your own bed, won’t you?”

A small noise of assent made it past Gabriel’s lips, and he nodded into Josh’s neck. “All right, Gabe, all right,” the gambler murmured, flexing the fingers of one hand through the sweat-damp curls. “You just relax, and I’ll take care of everything.”

“ _Está bien, hermano_ ,” Gabriel whispered in ragged tones.

Josh smiled to hear him speak, to know that the younger man was back with him and not lost in pain or memories. He gave Gabe one last gentle squeeze and released him back into the soft nest of the bedding. Gabe didn’t try to stop him. He stayed pliant as Josh, talking softly to him the entire time, maneuvered his limbs this way and that into his clothes. Once Josh finished with the last button on his shirt, he patted him lightly on the chest, then twisted around to sit next to him on the bed. The pair leaned into one another and waited quietly for Red Harvest or one of the others to come get them.

The longer they waited, however, the more agitated Gabriel seemed to get. Josh watched Gabe squirm for a minute or so, his eyebrow rising with a little amusement and a lot of concern as the wounded man couldn’t seem to settle. “Something wrong there, _hermanito_?”

Gabe paused in his shifting long enough to squint up at his brother. “ _¿Qué quieres decir?_ ”

“You’re wrigglin’ around like a worm on a hook, Gabe. Wanna tell me what’s going on? Did I button somethin’ up wrong?”

Gabriel shrugged awkwardly. “ _No, no que_ ,” he answered hoarsely, “It is the clothes themselves. I have not worn anything for so long, it feels strange to be wearing them again. The shirt, it … itches. That is all.”

Josh froze as the implications of what Gabe had just said hit him. Six weeks, no, over eight now, counting the days they’d had him back, since Gabe had been clothed. Over fifty days with not even the flimsy armor of clothing to protect him from the pain and humiliation heaped on him by Santos and the others, from the sickness and horror that followed. Guilt crashed over him in great, unending waves, and he nearly choked on his next breath.

A hand pressed against his chest as his breathing became labored, and he faintly heard a voice calling out to him in distressed tones. Not wanting to be the cause of anyone’s upset, Josh turned towards the voice as the hand on his chest clawed into the shirt he wore and gave him a weak shake.

“ _Josué_! Breathe, you must breathe! Come back to me, _Josué_ , please.”

Josh’s next breath filled his lungs to capacity and had him coughing at the unexpected intake. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and supported him through the coughing jag. The same pleas were whispered over and over into his ear throughout the spasm. When his breathing finally evened out, he found Red Harvest leaning over him with concern in his dark eyes.

“Wha --?”

“Are you back with us, _pabi_?” Red Harvest asked as he ran a healer’s eye over his ailing brother. He kept his hands tight around Joshua’s shoulders in case the tremor started again.

“I-I’m fine, what happened?” Josh turned his head to look at Gabe when the other man made a soft noise. The gambler’s eyes widened at the stricken look on his face, and he straightened out of the slump he was in to catch him in his arms. “Gabe, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

The stricken look deepened on the pale face. “I’m fine, _güerito_ , it is you who were not!” Gabriel panted fiercely. He untangled one hand from Joshua’s shirt to thump it weakly over the gambler’s heart. “You were talking one moment, then the next you started shaking, and then you stopped – you stopped breathing, Joshua! Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Josh lied, pulling Gabe closer so that he couldn’t see the untruth on his face. “I don’t remember doing that. I’m fine now, though. I’m sorry I scared you, Gabe. Guess I’m just more tired than I thought.”

“You do not stop breathing because you are tired, Joshua!” Gabe’s voice rose in a shrill tone bordering on panic. He wanted to sit upright, to look his stubborn brother in the face and demand answers; but his body betrayed him, as it had continuously for so long now, and he could do little more than struggle weakly in Joshua’s embrace.

“Enough, both of you,” Red Harvest interjected sternly. Any more of this, and Gabriel would be the next one to have an attack, and he was still far too fragile for the healer to allow that. “Joshua is breathing now, Gabriel, and if he is really that tired, he will have all the time he needs to catch up on his sleep on the way home. You both will.”

“Everything okay in here?” Billy asked, suddenly appearing over Red’s shoulder, startling them all, even the healer. He received three mutters in the affirmative. He didn’t believe a one of them but refrained from calling any of them on it. “It’s getting late. If we’re going to leave today, we should start soon.”

Red Harvest nodded sharply and moved to Gabriel’s side of the bed. The look he gave Josh brooked no argument. “Like before. Give him to me and meet me at the wagon.”

Josh grimaced but did as he was bidden. It wasn’t as difficult as he expected to slide out of Gabe’s vise-tight grip. The tea had finally started to kick in, and Gabe was half-asleep from its effects. Red Harvest wasted no time in gathering him up into his arms and moving in long, smooth strides towards the door, Josh and Billy trailing right behind them.

Billy and Goody had outdone themselves in making the wagon as comfortable as they could. A thick layer of straw covered the wooden bottom and stacked over that were as many blankets as they could pilfer from the ranch house. A stack of feather pillows in snowy white cases were propped up all along the back of the wagon, and a stash of water and food sat to one side, within easy reach of anyone laying against those pillows. It was more luxury than any of them were used to, but it was everything that Gabriel deserved right now.

Josh clapped each man on the shoulder in gratitude and approval then climbed up onto the tailgate and turned to take Gabe from Red Harvest. The healer jumped up into the wagon after relinquishing his burden to help Josh carefully arrange their injured brother under the top layer of blankets. The tea had taken complete effect by this time, and Gabe could barely keep his eyes open, let alone assist them in any way. Once they stopped moving him about, he just curled up under the soft warmth of the blankets and drifted off into sleep. 

Josh grinned a little at the sight and eased down to sit next to him. He gave his own little sigh of appreciation at the perfect combination softness and firmness against his back. He stretched his arms above his head and felt the bones in his spine snap back into place. The headboard he’d been leaning against for the past week or so hadn’t done his back any favors. This, though, this he could work with. Settling down further into the pillows, he rested a hand on the back of Gabe’s neck. 

Josh looked up when he heard the tailgate click into place. Billy gave him a small salute then disappeared as, somewhere behind and above him, Goodnight urged the horses into motion. The gambler watched through the back opening of the wagon as the shack slowly disappeared from view.

***

The first few days of travel went by without a hitch. The weather was clear, the road as smooth as it was going to get, and, despite initial misgivings, none of Gabriel’s wounds took a turn for the worse. In fact, the swaying of the wagon actually proved to be soothing to the wounded man, or perhaps, it was the knowledge that he was finally going home. In any case, he slept more peacefully than he ever had before, and he began to eat more, too. He still didn’t talk much, but these signs of normality filled his brothers with hope for his recovery. 

On the third morning, the heavens opened with the crash and crackle of a truly spectacular display of celestial fury and a deluge of rain hit the earth like the coming of a second Flood. The spring storm came on so suddenly that they barely had time to stop the wagon and find a relatively safe spot in a ring of evergreen trees for the horses before it started. With no place else to take shelter, Red Harvest, Goody, and Billy hastily removed everything unnecessary from the back of the wagon and shoved it all underneath the conveyance before climbing inside the small space. 

It took quite a bit of creative maneuvering and even more creative swearing before they were able to fit themselves around the pair already inside. In the end, Red ended up on the other side of Gabriel, bracketing the wounded man between himself and Joshua, while Billy and Goodnight made a nest for themselves at the foot of the wagon. Billy tugged the ties loose that held back the canopy, and the lot of them were shrouded in the semi-darkness of storm and canvas.

Goodnight peered at the bedraggled and disgruntled mess the five of them made and shook his head. “Well, don’t we all jist make a lovely spectacle?”

“Really, Goody?” Billy groaned and lobbed his sodden bandana at his lover. His aim as true as ever, it hit the Cajun square in the face. Goodnight squawked indignantly and fell back against the wooden slats of the wagon.

Red Harvest peered out from under the blanket he was using to dry himself off with at the squabbling pair. “He is not wrong. You do look lovely in this light, Billy,” he said with a straight face.

A sputter of laughter greeted this comment. “Y’know, I didn’t want to say anything, but now that Red’s mentioned it …”

“Shut up, Faraday!” Billy and Goody chorused, both throwing wet garments in the gambler’s direction. Joshua just laughed and deftly caught both – a sock and the bandana – before either could land on him or Gabe.

As the laughter and bickering died down, a wicked shard of lightning lit up the interior of the wagon followed almost immediately by a booming clap of thunder. All of them jumped at the unexpectedness of it, but none more so than Gabriel. He jerked upright from the light doze he’d been drifting in to a half-sitting position, struggling in fruitless endeavor against the blankets tucked securely around him, until Joshua eased him back into the snug space between himself and Red Harvest with quiet words and soft touches. 

Once his breathing calmed down to a normal pace, Gabriel looked blearily around the confines of the wagon and asked in a sleep-roughened voice, “Where are Jack and Sam going to sleep?”

The other four men froze. There it was, the question they had been dreading as their wounded brother grew stronger and more aware of the world around him. Between them, they had always managed to distract him or change the subject whenever his suspicions were aroused, but he had never asked so directly before.

Josh flinched as three pairs of eyes landed on him. The others would follow his lead in this, he knew, but he couldn’t bald-face lie to Gabriel about their older brothers’ whereabouts. He closed his eyes for a moment to gather his fortitude then looked down into his charge’s brown eyes. Even in the dim light of the storm, Josh could see the frown creasing the lines of his face.

“ _Güero_? Where are Jack and Sam?” Gabe demanded. “Surely they are not still out in the storm?”

“No, ‘course not,” Josh answered quietly. He immediately contradicted himself, “Or maybe they are, I don’t know.”

Gabriel’s frown deepened. “You are not making sense, Joshua.”

The gambler took a deep breath and let it out in an explosive burst. “They ain’t here with us, Gabe,” he said plainly, figuring that ripping the bandage off in one go might be best in this case. “They left the same day we found you to hunt down Santos. The bastard got away from us, one of his Comanche scouts, too. Sam and Jack went to make sure neither of them would ever be back to hurt you again.”

The uncomprehending look on the Mexican’s face transformed into one of profound horror and fear. “No. No!” He struggled once again against the arms and bedclothes that pinned him down. “We must go, we must find them! He will hurt them. We have to help them!

“Gabe, ssh, calm down now,” Josh tried to soothe him, holding him as firmly as he dared in the circle of his arms. “We don’t know where the trail led them. We have to wait until they come back to us. Which they will. I mean, c’mon, this is Sam and Jack we’re talking about here. If Bart Bogue’s army and three hundred Crow couldn’t stop them, Santos and one Comanche sure as hell ain’t.”

Gabriel shook his head in vehement denial. “Santos isn’t a man, he is the devil, and that scout is one of his demons! They don’t know what they’re up against!”

“But you do,” Billy said quietly, moving to crouch in front of the struggling man. The Mexican stilled and his dark eyes fixed on him. “You also know what Sam and Jack can do. You’ve seen it for yourself. You know how far they will go to exact justice, and how patient they can be to get the job done. Do you really think that even the devil has a chance against them?”

At these last words, Gabriel recoiled from Billy, his eyes going distant and his face pale, and he began to curl in on himself. Two strong hands caught his face before he could completely withdraw and tilted his head up to meet concerned blue eyes. Goody’s breath caught at the look twisting the younger man’s features, one he was only too familiar with from mornings staring into the mirror.

“Oh Gabriel,” the Cajun whispered sorrowfully and brushed his thumbs over the sharp arcs of Gabriel’s cheekbones, trying to smooth the self-loathing away. “Don’t do dat ta y’self, _mon frère_. You are not weak. Dey ambushed you, outnumbered, shot, an’ drugged you. Not a one of us would have done any betta den you in dat situation. But Sam an’ Jack are none of dese t’ings, an’ dey have a powerful reason ta make sure dat neither of dose sons of bitches live. Our brothers will hunt dem down, destroy dem as justice demands, an’ den dey will come back ta us. Ta you.”

Gabriel stared at him for long moments, the fear and doubt still plain on his face. He eventually said in a low, hoarse voice, “This world is rarely so kind as to do as we want simply because we will it to be so. How can you be so certain?”

Goodnight ached for all the hurt this man had suffered and still suffered at Santos’ hands. He hoped Sam and Jack made his death a miserable one. He flattened his hands on either side of Gabriel’s face and parried the man’s question with one of his own. “D’you trust me, Gabriel?”

“ _Sí_ ,” He hadn’t hesitated in his reply, but his tone held a note of wariness.

Goodnight pressed on anyway. He firmed his grip on the younger man’s stubbled jaw a tad more and said with quiet intensity, “Den trust me now, _mon frère_ , when I say dat dey are comin’ back. Dere’s no powa on dis earth dat could prevent dat. Dey will come back.”

Gabriel’s face went blank, but something like disappointment shadowed his eyes. He pulled away from Goody’s hold to fall back into the circle of Josh’s waiting arms, turning his head to hide in the soft cotton of the gambler’s shirt, effectively stalling any other attempts to convince him of Sam and Jack’s return. Josh shot Goodnight an apologetic look over Gabriel’s dark curls and shifted to settle his brother’s body more comfortably against his own. An uneasy quiet filled the wagon, broken only by the fierce rumblings of the outside storm and the soft rustle of cloth as the others also settled to wait out Nature’s fury.

Whatever healing Gabe had found riding in the wagon vanished after that revelation. He rarely spoke to any of them, only grudgingly accepted any help they offered, and his appetite diminished to almost nothing. He slept only when his body simply couldn’t stay awake any longer, and what sleep he did get was riddled with returned nightmares. The next couple of nights had them all awake with the sounds of his screams and whimpers. They had regressed back to nights immediately following the withdrawals, and none of them knew how to fix it.

The biggest change, though, was the increased intensity with which he tracked each of them. He’d been obsessed before, but now he was relentless. Joshua was easy for him, as he rarely left the wagon. Gabe could have the reassurance of his heartbeat under his ear or the gentleness of his touch, things he still craved no matter how angry he was, whenever he wanted it. 

The others were more problematic for him until they figured out what he was doing. Then, when they weren’t taking turns driving the wagon, they would take turns sitting in the wagon with Josh and Gabe or riding right behind it so that Gabe could see them easily through the opening in the back. If they couldn’t be within his line of sight, they took pains to make themselves heard. Billy took to singing at random moments, and Goodnight regaled them with outrageously exaggerated stories from his youth. Even Red Harvest spoke more than was his usual wont, just quiet, everyday things, but enough to let his brother know he was present.

It was a somber group that finally reached the cabin on the mountain that they had all called home for the past five years. 

***

In the dusk of a rainy afternoon, two riders approached the ramshackle building at a fast pace, both men and horses eager to reach their destination. The ride had been long and hard, and all of them, man and beast, needed food and rest. Anticipation had kept the riders going long past what was sensible, and that feeling had transferred to their mounts long enough for them to get to where they were going. Sam’s black gelding pulled a little ahead of Jack’s mare as the shack came into view.

“Sam, hold up a minute,” Jack urged suddenly. 

Something wasn’t right here. It was too quiet, too still. They hadn’t been at all stealthy in their approach, and they should have been greeted by one of their brothers by now. He drew his rifle out of his saddle scabbard with one hand and pulled his hatchet from his belt with the other. 

But Sam had already reined in the black and was swinging down from his saddle, gun drawn. “I know,” he answered in a low voice. “Ready?”

The tracker’s feet hit the ground beside him, and with only a look between them, they separated in their approach of the shack. Sam heard the backdoor splinter under the force of Jack’s boot even as he burst through the front door. Nothing and no one greeted them as they met in the small living area. 

“Our boys ain’t here, Sam,” Jack said grimly. 

White-knuckled hands clenched tight around both the tracker’s weapons, and there was a wildness in his eyes that spoke of a deep rage. He looked like he was one step away from tearing the world apart to find the young men he loved like family. The warrant officer felt the same murderous desire well up inside himself, but blind rage wasn’t going to find them. 

Sam drew close to Jack and squeezed a hand around the older man’s arm in a gesture both soothing and warning at the same time. The two men stood facing one another for several moments before Jack gave Sam a small nod, the fire inside him temporarily banked.

“It doesn’t look like there was any kind of a struggle, and you know the boys would have put up one hell of a fight if anybody they didn’t like the look of came at them,” Sam said, turning in a slow circle as his eyes scanned the room. “We’re missing something, Jack. Let’s find it.”

The pair parted to search the shack more thoroughly. It took a bit of time, but eventually, a flutter of white over the doorjamb caught Sam’s attention. Reaching up, he plucked at the object, cutting himself on the small blade that fixed it there in the process. Cursing more in surprise than pain, Sam sucked on the small wound while shaking out the scrap with his other hand.

“What you got there, Sam?”

A grin lit up Sam’s face as he studied the characters on the paper. He handed the paper and the knife over to Jack. The tracker raised an eyebrow at the knife then looked down at the page. A smile slowly spread beneath his white beard as he read what was written there.

“Should have guessed our boys were clever enough to leave us a note that no one else can read!” Jack crowed with relief and delight.

There on the paper, in Billy’s neat scrawl, was the Korean symbol for home. The tracker didn’t know of anyone else besides the members of their small group who could make heads or tails of the Korean alphabet. The assassin had only taught them the basics of his written language, as it had been all he had been taught by his own parents before being sold off to his first owner, but it was more than enough to keep the message as safe as if it had been stored in Fort Knox. 

Taking the note as Jack handed it back to him, Sam tucked it into the same pocket that held Gabe’s release and reward papers. “Looks like we’re finally going home, Jack.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was supposed to be the happy ending that the boys deserve … buuuuut, the muses decided to get all angsty on me. Like, hardcore angsty. So, be warned, this chapter contains emotional whiplash and a few flashbacks to Gabe's time with Sanchos. It's not terribly graphic, but I didn't want anyone to go in blind. Um, enjoy? I promise the next post will be happier than this one ...

Their homecoming wasn’t quite the success Red Harvest had anticipated. 

The young native slumped against the mantle and watched the flames flicker and fade in the grate with unseeing eyes. He needed to find a way to fix this. He was the healer. His brothers depended on him to _heal_ , but he didn’t know how to proceed here any longer. He had reached the limits of his medicinal knowledge and training, not that any of it mattered at the moment. Medicines could not ease the pain of the jagged wounds on Gabriel’s heart or soothe the suffering in Joshua’s weary eyes. 

He wished he could talk to Sam or Jack ... 

… he wished he could talk to his mother. 

Red Harvest had made the decision to bring Gabriel back to the only home any of them really had. He had persuaded the others that it was the right course of action. He still believed that to be true. Even with four of his brothers guarding and caring for him, Gabriel clearly hadn’t felt safe in that ramshackle hut. He never would have relaxed enough to let himself heal properly if they’d stayed there. 

The healer hadn’t expected the move to work miracles; but he had hoped that by surrounding Gabriel with four strong walls, in a warm, familiar bed and dressed in his own worn comfortable clothes, his wounded brother would find some peace. And, despite the silent treatment they’d all been getting after the revelation of Sam and Jack’s absence, it looked like maybe such peace would be granted. 

They’d only hit one snag in transferring Gabriel from the wagon to his room. The two beds that Gabriel and Josh normally slept in while at the cabin were barely large enough to accommodate one of them at a time. There was no way they would both fit on one, but there was also no way they were going to sleep apart any time soon. Billy and Goodnight soon solved the problem by lashing the two bed frames together to prevent them from separating and spreading the mattresses over both. It was still a bit cramped, but neither Gabriel nor Joshua was looking for a lot of space at the moment. 

After Joshua had settled Gabriel down into the clean bedding, he had made a show of stashing Gabriel’s guns within easy reach in their normal hiding places in the headboard and under the pillow. He had then looped his own gun belt around the closest bedpost and climbed in beside Gabriel. The wounded man had sidled across the mattress as soon as Joshua had made himself comfortable and proceeded to make _himself_ comfortable by sprawling over his brother. Joshua hadn’t uttered a word of protest, just tucked him a bit more securely against his side and leaned back against the pillows lining the headboard. Both men had fallen into a light doze, and the other three had quietly left them to it. 

And that was the last of the peace. 

Gabriel had never, in the five years that they’ve been riding together, been so badly injured or sick that he’d been confined to a bed. The only other one who could claim that was Sam, as even Red Harvest had succumbed to a nasty bout of influenza two years back that left him flat on his back for two straight weeks and shaky on his feet for another two. The worst Gabriel had suffered, other than the bullet wound at Rose Creek, was a broken ankle, and he’d gotten around that by staying on his horse or using Joshua as a crutch until it healed. 

As such, none of them knew how he’d be as a long-term patient. But with his relatively easy-going nature, it had been assumed that, while he may grumble and grouse a bit, he’d actually be the easiest one to deal with in such a situation. While that might have been the case before his kidnapping and torture, it sure wasn’t now. 

As he healed, Gabriel had taken it in turns to snap and snarl at all of them for the most ridiculous things. They all knew that the aftereffects of the drugs that had been forced on him were part of the cause for his temper, so they tried not to hold any harsh words against him; but the man knew them all too well, and he knew how to strike at their weaknesses. Joshua bore the brunt of their brother’s wrath, as he was the most convenient target, and the guilt he heaped upon himself didn’t let him fight back too much. Goodnight, Billy, and Red Harvest spent almost as much time rescuing the gambler from the scathing words as they did trying to keep Gabriel as comfortable as possible. 

The worst of it came a few days after their return. Some of the gashes on Gabriel’s feet had become infected despite all of Red Harvest’s efforts and needed to stay clean and bound until the infection cleared. Which also meant that the healer had forbidden Gabriel from walking on them, and this had led to a near-shouting match between the two that ended only because Red Harvest had walked out of the room, leaving Joshua to deal with the fallout. The healer still felt ashamed of that desertion. 

Trying to find a middle ground to the dispute, Goodnight had procured a wheelchair from the town at the base of the mountain, but Gabriel had stubbornly refused to even look at it for two solid days. Billy had finally bullied him into the chair and glared at him until he gave it a try. The unfamiliar motions of pushing the chair about on his own made Gabriel’s bad shoulder and wrists ache and pulled on the half-healed wounds on his back, but he had gritted his teeth and managed to make it as far as the next room before he’d had to stop for a break. 

Sweat had beaded at his hairline and thin lines of strain had creased his eyes and the corners of his mouth from the effort, but a grim, coyote-like smile of triumph had curved his lips, and he had wasted little time in recovering before he had pointed himself towards the front door. He’d sat outside on the porch, eyes trained on the trail that led to their home, until he was called inside for dinner. Before eating, he had grudgingly thanked Goodnight for his gift, and a kind of truce had been declared for the next day or so. 

Red Harvest privately thought that this gift had backfired on them all. In being more independent, Gabriel’s paranoia had deepened and he kept an even sharper watch over the others and their surroundings, secreting one of his guns under the blanket covering his legs, always keeping a wall against his back and as many of his brothers in sight or earshot as he could. Joshua took to hovering about him, an anxious mama hen with a wounded, now mobile chick, and this tendency of his caused several more flare-ups of Gabriel’s temper, the last one particularly venomous. Joshua had retreated to their room for a few hours while Gabriel stewed by the window in the living area. 

They had eventually reconciled enough to be able to share the bed again that night, but Red Harvest knew that they were fast approaching a breaking point. All of them, not just Joshua and Gabriel, and the youngest member of their family worried how the fallout would affect them all. 

The fire crackled and snapped, but it had no answers for the troubled young man. With a deep sigh, Red Harvest turned his back to the warmth and light and settled down in the darkness to take whatever fitful hours of sleep were left to him before dawn. 

*** 

Gabriel pushed aside too-long bangs in a futile effort to clear his eyes and darted an irritated glace to the side as something warm tapped twice against his shoulder. Joshua – of course it was Joshua – stood there with a determinedly neutral look on his face, a tin mug in each hand. Without a single word, he held one out to Gabriel. Steam rose lazily from its depths and brought with it the rich, dark scent of coffee. After a minute but noticeable pause, Gabriel accepted the mug as silently as it was offered and took a sip by way of apology. 

The gambler deserved more than this paltry gesture, but Gabriel just didn’t have it in him to provide better recompense right now. He could only take another conciliatory sip of the coffee before turning his gaze back to the well-worn path that led to the cabin. He heard the faint rustle of cloth as Joshua leaned back against the wall beside him. 

The two of them have been at odds since they had woken this morning, and Gabriel felt like a powder keg with a lit match hovering just above the fuse. A part of him truly did appreciate that Joshua meant only to make things easier for him, but a larger, more insidious part of him, didn’t want things to be easier. A yawning darkness had blossomed in the center of his soul during his weeks of captivity, and from this darkness had welled the strength, the sheer animal drive, to survive Santos. If he lost that seething, black morass of rage and guilt to Joshua’s kindness, Gabriel didn’t know where his strength would then come from, and he needed – oh, he needed – to be strong. 

Billy had said that he knew the skills that Jack and Sam possessed, had asked him to trust that their two oldest brothers would find a way to defeat his enemy – no, not defeat, eradicate. Billy wasn’t wrong. Jack and Sam were among the most ruthless, relentless and vicious men he’d encountered in his vagabond life. Under any other circumstances, Gabriel would be as content as the rest of them to accept the inevitable fate of Santos and his pet Comanche and calmly wait to congratulate the elder pair when they returned victorious. 

These were not normal circumstances. Gabriel had thought he knew what evil was. He had grown up a good Catholic, and even if he didn’t attend Mass as faithfully as he ought, he still remembered the lessons he’d been taught as a child. Evil existed in the world, and men like Bogue or the Pigeon brothers or that bastard of a ranger he’d killed or so many others he’d come across while on the run, had driven those lessons home. And while he’d never become fully immune to such depravity, had tried to do as much good as he was able, Gabriel had allowed himself to become somewhat jaded to it all. This was not a world meant for saints, and evil was real. 

He had been horribly, wretchedly wrong. He had known _nothing_ of evil. 

He did now. 

And he could do nothing, too weak and confined to a _puta_ wheelchair, to keep that evil from touching Jack and Sam. The darkness inside him roiled at the thought of being so helpless again. 

“You okay?” 

Joshua’s voice sounded far away, and Gabriel almost ignored it, wallowing in the past, until a hand felt lightly onto his shoulder. He jumped at the touch, a silent snarl twisting his lips, and jerked away from the gentle touch. The outlaw half-turned in his chair and glared up at the man beside him. 

Josh held up both hands in a placating gesture and took a step back. “It’s okay, Gabe, it’s just me. You were grindin’ your teeth pretty hard there, _hermano_. Somethin’ wrong?” 

It was a simple, genuine question, meant only with familial concern, but Gabriel felt something snap deep inside at the words. Before he could spit out the answer seething behind his teeth, he was interrupted by Goodnight poking his head out of the back door. “Hey, Joshua, could you come in here for a moment, _s’il te plait_? I need yer help wit’ somet’ing inside. I’m sure dat Gabriel c’n spare you fer a few minutes, _oui_?” 

Goodnight smiled at them both as if he wasn’t being the most obvious person on the mountain right now. The outlaw had to resist rolling his eyes. Surely Josh could see through his ploy, but if it got the gambler out of his hair for even a little while, then Gabriel would be eternally grateful to the Cajun. 

Predictably, Josh hesitated, running his eyes over Gabe in a way that made him bristle. _Maldita sea_ , he wasn’t an invalid! Something of his foul temper must have finally sunk through the other man’s obliviousness because he gave a small start, his eyes widening then closing briefly. A pained expression flitted across Josh’s face before he nodded slowly. Gabriel would find the time to feel guilty about that later, right now he just wanted the freedom that Goodnight’s request promised. 

“All right, Goody, let’s see what you’ve gotten yourself into this time,” the gambler said with a weary attempt at levity. He didn’t look back at Gabriel as he slipped past the older man. Goodnight frowned at his back then at Gabriel, opened his mouth as though to speak, then pressed his lips together and followed the gambler inside. 

_Finalmente_! Now that his watchdog was absent, he refused to be confined to this _maldito_ chair any longer. He knew he could walk if only his brothers would let him try. Gabriel shuffled to the edge of the chair, and, with great care and precision, pushed himself up into a standing position. 

Fire licked at the soles of his feet through the thick socks he wore, and he almost crashed back down into the chair; but he gritted his teeth and fought through the pain and dizziness to stay upright. He would be a prisoner no longer! Once the worst of it had passed, he took a bracing breath and moved towards the stairs on the porch. 

Only as he took that first step forward, his entire body jarred in pain, sparking from his feet and up his back to push a startled growl out of the pit of his belly. Gabriel felt his knees start to buckle, and he cursed his body for its weakness. He flung his hands out in a futile bid to stop his descent to the ground. 

Miraculously, he didn’t hit the ground. Gabriel heard a muttered Korean oath before a strong arm slid low around his waist and swung him carefully back into the chair he’d just escaped. Billy sank to his knees in front of him; he could feel the piercing gaze boring into the top of his bowed head, but he stubbornly refused to raise his head. 

“Now I know how Joshua feels when I curse at him in Spanish,” Gabriel muttered between wheezes. 

Billy kept steadying hands on his shoulders as he retorted, “And now I know what drives you to swear at him in Spanish, _hangmun_. English really doesn’t have the necessary words for the stupidity I just witnessed. What were you thinking trying to walk on those feet?” 

“I was tired of sitting,” he growled stubbornly, the heat of embarrassment and anger warming his face. 

“That’s all you’ll be doing if you don’t let yourself heal,” Billy admonished quietly. “I know you’re going crazy without being able to move around on your own, but it’s better than the alternative.” 

“How would you know, eh?” Gabriel snarled. He knocked the other man’s hands from his shoulders, struggling not to hiss in pain as the gesture made the ache in his bad shoulder flare. This only made him angrier and he lashed out more, “You are not the one who cannot walk without help, the one who cannot do anything without help whether I want it or not! All of you always hovering! I’m sick of it! I just want to be left alone for two minutes, but none of you can do that, can you? Can you?” 

Billy sank back onto his heels and waited impassively for him to finish. “You done?” Another snarl was Gabriel’s response, but Billy only continued calmly, “Gabe, what is really bothering you? Is it the chair or lack of privacy or something else?” 

Gabriel felt color drain from his face. He had to look away from Billy’s dark, knowing gaze. “W-what,” he cleared his throat before finishing, “do you mean?” 

Understanding dawned on Billy’s face, and Gabriel flinched, knowing he didn’t want to hear what the other man had to say. He didn’t want to hear how he was safe, that the others would protect him. He needed to be able to protect himself – and them. More them than him. He had already been broken; he won’t let that happen to any of the others. Santos was still out there, and he needed to be prepared to act. No matter how dangerous his brothers were, they did not know what Santos was capable of, had no defense against such a monster. He did, and he had to protect them. When Billy did speak, however, the words weren’t the ones Gabriel expected. 

“You’ve always been quick with your hands, and your eyes are sharp,” Billy said musedly. He turned his head and gazed out over the small yard until his eyes lit upon a tree about twenty yards from where they were. “That should work.” 

Gabriel shifted his gaze from the tree to Billy, curious despite himself. “What should work? You are not making much sense, _hermano_.” 

“I’m just wondering why a man with your talents uses guns when he could,” he plucked a knife from his belt with the same swiftness that Gabriel usually used with his pistols, “use one of these.” 

The outlaw raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him. “Corrupting Sam to the ways of the blade wasn’t enough for you? Now you want me, too, eh?” 

Secretly, though, he’d always been fascinated by the way Billy and Red Harvest wielded their knives, and maybe a little bit envious. He didn’t know what Billy had in mind here, but he was curious enough to be willing to hear him out at least. And anything that gave him an advantage over his enemies could only be a good thing. Santos wouldn’t be expecting it of him. 

Billy shrugged. “Like we told Sam, having more than one means to defend yourself can’t hurt, and it’s easier to hide a knife than it is a gun, no matter what Josh says. You don’t have to reload a knife, either, and with practice, you can throw one almost as fast as you can draw a gun.” He tossed the knife up in the air, caught it by the blade in one gloved hand, and held it out to Gabriel handle first all in the space of a few seconds. “Want to see what you can do with one?” 

Gabriel stared at him a long moment then at the proffered knife. He slowly reached out and wrapped his fingers around the ivory handle. Although it had been made specifically for Billy as a gift from Goodnight, it felt right in his hand, a perfectly balanced, perfectly honed weapon. He clutched it a little tighter and looked up at Billy. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

*** 

From behind the curtains, Josh and Goodnight watched as Billy pulled over a chair beside Gabe’s own to show him the way to properly throw a knife from a seated position. Once Gabe got the hang of it, Billy rose and wheeled him over to the edge of the porch and pointed to a tree a short distance from them. Gabe tilted his head up at him and shot him a narrow-eyed look. Billy merely raised his eyebrows at him and pointed again at the tree. 

A look of determination fell over the outlaw’s face. Hefting the knife, he sighted his target and let fly. A dull thud sounded in the small clearing as the knife sunk into the base of the tree. Billy glided down the steps to retrieve it, spun suddenly on his heel, and threw the blade. It lodged into the porch railing mere inches from where Gabe sat, the hilt quivering. 

Josh made a soft sound of protest at this, but Goodnight hushed him. ‘Just watch,’ he mouthed at the gambler. Josh grudgingly obeyed. 

Gabe jumped when the knife landed so close, a few choice words of Spanish falling from his lips. Billy just waited by the tree with an almost bored expression on his face. Still muttering under his breath, the outlaw yanked the knife out of the bannister and brandished it his teacher. 

Billy waved a hand at him and commanded “Throw!” 

Gabe did, and so began a morning full of curses, encouragement, and the thunk of metal repeatedly hitting wood. Smiling with satisfaction, Goody slid an arm around Josh’s shoulders and led him away from the window. 

“Dere gonna be jus’ fine, _cher_ ,” he assured. “Let’s leave dem to it. In de meantime, why don’ you go lie down an’ take a nap? Yer lookin’ a little frayed ‘round de edges, if you don’ mind me sayin’ so, some sleep will do you good.” 

Josh looked at him incredulously. “I can’t do that, what if –?” 

Goodnight gave him a stern look. “You don’ trust my Billy ta look after yer Gabriel?” 

“It’s not that, Goody, c’mon, you know that’s not what I meant,” Josh protested. “It’s just –” 

The Cajun held up one hand while he forcibly steered the gambler towards the bedroom he shared with Gabriel with the other. “Jist nuthin’, Joshua Faraday. Gabriel is in good hands. You need some rest, an’ you promised me dat you would let us help. Go lie down while you c’n.” 

Goody had gotten up a fine enough steam to make stopping him difficult, and Josh let him drag him along towards the bedroom for a few steps. But then another shout of triumph floated through the window, and something hot and painful flared in Josh’s chest. He didn’t want to lie down and listen to this while trying to sleep. He didn’t want to hear how inadequate he’d become in being what his brother needed, if Gabe had ever really needed him at all. If Gabe was happier with Billy, then fine, the two of them could have the day together. He would just find something else to do that would be appreciated. Josh dug in his heels and spun free from Goody’s grip. 

“What d’you tink yer doin’?” Goodnight demanded, scrambling to catch up to the other man as Josh moved swiftly around the room. His eyes widened when the gambler scooped up the axe resting in the corner next to the fireplace. “What are you gonna do wit’ dat, Joshua?” 

Joshua’s smile contained little humor as he swung the axe up to one shoulder. “Firebox is a little low. Figured I’d fill it up. See you in few hours.” He slipped out the door before the Cajun could protest. 

Goodnight stared after him with, mouth agape, then slowly shook his head. “Well,” he said to the empty room, “dat coulda gone betta.” 

*** 

_Dammit, why is Gabe acting like this?!_ Josh growled to himself as his axe bit viciously into the tree before him. _I’m just tryin’ to help him. Why the hell won’t he let me?_

He yanked hard to pull the blade back out from the trunk and struck with all his frustration once more. The tree snapped in half. Without missing a beat, he moved to the left and attacked the next tree in line with the same ferocity as the first hapless oak. 

His brother’s nightmares were something awful, and the worst of it was how hard he tried to hide them. More than once since they’d gotten home, Josh had woken to find Gabe plastered to his side, his forehead pressed to Josh’s shoulder and arms crossed protectively over his chest. His breathing was deep and rough in these moments, crowded with pain, but not whimpers, not sobs, just breaths with little cries and choked off sounds. They’re the most heart-breaking thing Josh had ever heard, and he pulled the younger man into his own arms every time. 

As soon as he had him settled against his chest, Josh would feel the other man’s mouth open around the fabric of his shirt as Gabe began to weep, screams and sobs and coughs all struggling to come out at once. Gabe’s body rocked on the verge of convulsions, terrifyingly similar to the withdrawal symptoms, and Josh could only hold him tighter and tighter as he waited for it to end, hoping it would be enough. 

It wasn’t, apparently, for as soon as the nightmares chased Gabe up into wakefulness, and he realized where he was and who was holding him, he’d tear himself free of Josh’s embrace as if he was the cause of all his pain. He never attempted to leave the bed, but he’d curl himself up in a tight, panting ball around the hurt and the horror as though trying to keep it all contained that way, and any time Josh asked him about it, all he’d get were harsh words in return. If he wasn’t such a stubborn cuss, he would have stopped asking long before now, but Josh just couldn’t leave Gabe alone with his dark memories. 

_Why won’t he tell me?_ Josh silently raged at the trees. _I won’t tell anyone else, if that’s what he’s worried about. I haven’t told any of his secrets yet. Why can’t he trust … me …_

Josh’s inner tirade stumbled to a halt at the word. Trust. Gabe didn’t trust him anymore, and why should he? They’d had each other’s backs for the past five years, but when it really counted – when his brother had needed him the most – he hadn’t been there. Sure, he’d shown up eventually, but not before the damage had been irrevocably done. Gabe was never going to be the same again, and it was Josh’s fault. Why would Gabe trust him ever again? 

These thoughts spiraled round and round the gambler’s head like vultures over a particularly promising corpse as he chopped and chopped and chopped. By the time his arms and lungs demanded a break, two more oaks had met their demise. Josh barely allowed himself enough time to catch his breath before he began the process of turning the trunks into logs and hauling those logs back to the cabin. 

The sun had gotten low on the horizon by the time he had stacked the excess of the logs beside the nearly overflowing wood box. They would not want for firewood for a good long while. Josh let his aching arms fall to his side and just stood there, body too tired and mind in too much of an uproar to plot his next move. 

“Joshua?” 

The gambler jerked out of his sullen reverie at the call of his name. He turned to find Billy standing behind him. The older man’s eyes widened a bit at the sight Josh made and reached out to wrap his hand around Josh’s upper arm. Josh flinched slightly at the touch, and, frowning, Billy let his hand drop. 

“You should get washed up,” Billy said in a quiet, even tone, not wanting to upset his fragile state even more. “Dinner is almost ready.” 

Josh stared at him for a long moment, but eventually nodded, too tired to start an argument now. He picked up the axe and docilely followed the other man inside. He set the axe back in its place beside the hearth before disappearing into the bedroom. He returned a few moments later in a clean shirt and took his usual place between Red Harvest and Gabe. He didn’t look up from his plate as he passively ate whatever was put in front of him or participate in any of the conversation around the table. 

His only reaction other than eating came when Gabe reached out to grab the salt beside Josh’s cup. Instead of handing it to him or even just scooting the shaker closer, Josh leaned away from the grasping hand just far enough that the two of them didn’t touch. It was a subtle, almost natural movement, or it would have been if the two of them hadn’t lived inside of each other’s personal space from practically the moment they had met. Gabe stared at the side of Josh’s bowed head for a handful of moments before slowly retreating with the salt. The gambler continued to shovel food into his mouth as though nothing strange had occurred. The other three men, who had paused to watch the odd exchange, trading uneasy glances and belatedly started their conversation back up. 

Josh finished quickly after that. He didn’t linger once he was done as was his normal habit, but instead left the table and trudged out to the front porch. Through door he left open behind him, his brothers could hear the creak of a chair as Josh lowered himself into one and smell the distinct scent of his preferred brand of cheroots as he lit one up. 

Gabriel watched him leave but made no attempt to stop him or call him back. When he was done with his own meal, he quietly excused himself, and, despite the early hour, wheeled his way to the bedroom he shared with the gambler. He shut the door behind him with a quiet click. 

Red Harvest went out to the front porch. He didn’t know what had happened earlier that afternoon. He had come back from hunting the rabbits they’d just eaten to find Gabriel and Billy throwing knives around outside, Goodnight seated at the table pretending to read a book inside, and Joshua nowhere to be found. He had left it alone at the time, thinking it would be a good thing for Joshua and Gabriel to spend some time apart, and coerced the Cajun into helping him prepare the meal. 

It did seem to work, at least temporarily, in Gabriel’s case. The outlaw had been in better spirits than Red Harvest had seen in days by the time Billy had put an end to the throwing lessons for the day. He had even good-naturedly accepted a knife to help chop up some vegetables to go with their dinner and laughed at a joke that Goody made. 

The time apart had obviously not been as kind to Joshua, and Red Harvest was not about to let his _pabi_ suffer alone. Joshua tensed at his approach, his shoulders drawing close to his ears, as he waited for the younger man to say something. The healer said nothing, for he knew words would not help now. Instead, he pulled one of the empty chairs close enough that he when he sat down, his shoulder brushed reassuringly against Joshua’s own. Joshua gradually relaxed as Red Harvest’s unjudgmental presence chased away a little, not a lot but a little, bit of the self-loathing he’d buried himself in all day. He smoked his cheroot down to a nub then lit another. A companionable silence fell between them. 

The two of them stayed out on the porch for several hours, Joshua slumping further in his chair until he was leaning pretty heavily into the young man next to him, eyes drooping with fatigue. Red Harvest accepted his weight easily and held still in the hopes that the gambler might actually sleep. But Joshua was too stubborn for that, and finally, with an almost inaudible sigh, he reluctantly decided to head back inside. Red Harvest stood when he did, one hand on his arm to steady him as he swayed momentarily. 

He stared up at him with a look Josh couldn’t decipher before he tugged the taller man closer and wrapped his arms around him in a firm hug. Josh’s breath caught somewhere between surprise and gratefulness. Red Harvest had never been the most demonstrative of men, but when he did choose to make a gesture, he damn well meant it. He pulled Joshua in a little tighter. Josh held out for one second longer, then melted into the embrace and allowed himself to savor the rare show of affection, arms coming up to return the gesture. The two of them stood linked on the front porch until Josh pulled back slightly. Red Harvest let him go without comment and followed him back into the cabin when Josh turned to go. 

The two men parted, each to their own sleeping space. Josh quietly opened and closed the bedroom door, not bothering to light the lantern. The moonlight coming through the window was enough for him to undress by. He stilled as Gabe shifted on the mattress. The other man laid facing him away from him on the far side of the bed, but in the relative darkness of the room, Josh couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not. He waited a moment to see what Gabe would do. 

When he didn’t move or acknowledge him, Josh chose to believe that he was no longer awake and crawled under the covers with his back to his bedmate, careful to keep as much distance between them as he could without falling to the floor. It felt strange, unnatural, not to have Gabe curled up into his side, but really, it was the least he deserved. Tomorrow, he would see about unlashing the beds so Gabe could have his space back. 

Tired and overwrought by the self-revelations of the day, Josh did not believe that he would fall asleep quickly or at all that night; but he had underestimated how hard he’d driven himself that day. Now that he was finally still and horizontal, his overworked body claimed its due and plunged him into a deep, restless sleep between one breath and the next. 

So deep was his sleep, that he didn’t feel the sharp tap of Gabe’s heel against his calf or hear the tiny, jagged cry that escaped his brother’s lips. He slept on, unwillingly oblivious, as Gabe’s demons showed up once again to torment the outlaw’s dreams, even as his own demons came to call. 

*** 

_Gabriel’s struggles are weak and useless against the many hands that tear him from the cabinet and drag him to the center of the room, forcing him to his knees in front of the empty chair there and chaining him to the rings set in the floor. He is left alone for a few moments, then the door behind him softly opens and closes. He tenses involuntarily as footsteps approach, knowing what is to come, a daily ritual he despises almost more than anything that follows after. He doesn’t want_ el Diablo’s _hands on him, the soft, cool mockeries of gentle touch that only serve to bare him further to his tormentor’s ravenous gaze. He already has so few defenses left, but still the monster strips him of this, too. The chains around his neck and hands rattle as he tries in vain to shift away from the presence he can feel at his back._

_“Must we do this every morning, my dear?” Santos’s cultured voice sounds like a disappointed teacher speaking to his favorite student. A smooth palm pressed heavily against a day-old welt on Gabriel’s shoulders, and it was all he could do to bite back a yelp. “You know that you cannot escape me, Gabriel. And while I do appreciate your fighting spirit, it would be to your benefit to wait until after we are done with your morning ablutions before putting on such a display. You will need all your strength then, as you well know.”_

_Willing himself to stillness - because he_ does, _he does know that he will need all his strength for the hours ahead - Gabriel wrestles the urge to move, to fight back, down to a mere twitch of muscle under his skin, like a horse when a fly lands upon it. Santos makes a pleased sound and pats his shoulder in approval._

_“There, I knew you could do it.” A moment later, Santos’ well-dressed figure appears before Gabriel, and he sits down in the chair with all the grace and ceremony of a man hosting an elite dinner party. He smiles down at Gabriel, though nothing of humor or delight shows in those cold eyes. No emotion on any kind ever has in that soulless, unnaturally blue gaze._

_The door opens again as if on cue, and a small, pale shadow of a man glides into the room, bearing a steaming bowl of water between his hands, a white towel over one forearm, and a small bag looped over the other. All these things he arranged neatly on the small table situated on Santos’ left. Once done, he waits for his master’s dismissal, bows deeply, and leaves as silently as he entered._

_Santos picks up the shaving brush and swishes it through the foam in its smaller bowl. He moves the brush over Gabriel’s face with the practiced strokes of a man who has done this many times before. Gabriel forces himself to not move as his jaw, neck, and cheeks are covered in the woodsy-smelling stuff. Satisfied with his work, Santos sets the brush down and picks up the razor._

_“It occurred to me on my walk here that we haven’t yet spoken about your tracker friend, have we?” Santos murmurs as he slowly slides the razor down one cheek._

_Gabriel feels the rasp of the blade as if it were sliding over his raw nerves instead, and he barely keeps a snarl from twisting his lips. Santos doesn’t seem to notice as he rinses the excess foam off the razor, tilts Gabriel’s head with a finger under his chin, and makes another pass over his captive’s stubbled skin._

_“I think I’d have to come up with something special just for him. After all, a man that ferocious, that vengeful, that spiritual … well, not just any death would do, would it? What do you think it would take to bring a man like that to his knees?”_

_His tone is thoughtful, considering the answer to this riddle, as he continues to shave the morning’s stubble from Gabriel’s face. “Do you think,” he finally says once he’s finished with the shave, patting away any stray droplets of foam and water from the bound man’s face, “that my Comanche friends would enjoy finding out? It may have been the Crow peoples he took such dreadful vengeance against, but I imagine that wouldn’t make any difference to them. The scalp of a legend as notorious as Jack Horne would be a great prize.”_

_Gabriel remains silent and still but his dark eyes blaze with the fury radiating through his whole body. Santos chuckles at this flash of spirit and dries his hands on the towel before he lays it with deliberate care on the table beside the basin. He turns back to Gabriel and leans in close._

_“Tell me, do you think he would call out to his God for mercy as he is slowly ripped apart, piece by bloody piece?” Santos whispers into his prisoner’s ear, his own clean-shaven cheek brushing lightly against the newly bared skin. “Do you think his God would answer?”_

_Santos sits back and smooths a hand through Gabriel’s curls in a gentle caress. He shakes his head in a parody of sadness as he says, “After all, He hasn’t answered you, has He?”_

The dreamer whimpered and tossed his head, trying to escape the horrors of the past, but the nightmare had caught him in its undertow, rolling along without mercy, morphing seamlessly into yet another hellish memory … 

_“Tell me, my dear Gabriel,” Santos says with that soft, musing tone that he’s learned to dread, the monster’s long fingers twining in his curls and tugging until Gabriel’s head is fully tilted back, throat vulnerable. He circles the tips of his fingers on his free hand over Gabriel’s Adam’s apple, following the bob of it as Gabriel swallows involuntarily._

_“What makes Sam Chisholm so worthy of the respect all of you give him? What power does he hold over you that drives you and the other five to blindly follow where he leads?”_

_Santos circles around his suspended captive until he stands closely behind Gabriel, the heat of him searing the bleeding gashes crisscrossing his back. Gabriel jerks forward as much as the chains latched to the hook in the ceiling allow to escape the burning. The scab in the bend of his elbow tears free at the movement, more blood flowing down his arm. The doctor has already come and gone today, and Gabriel’s thoughts, his vision, have turned hazy. He has no control, no refuge, he mustn’t speak, he cannot give anything else away …_

_Santos runs his thumb through the crimson trail until he reaches the black and blue source. He strokes lightly over the bruised flesh, once, twice, then digs in as hard as he can. Gabriel muffles his shout down to a pained grunt, and he feels the sick smile of his tormentor against the back of his neck._

_Santos continues his observations, a note of disgust creeping into his tone, “Not a one of you has ever challenged him for leadership of your misfit band. You just go where he says and do whatever he wants. And all for what? To protect the weak, to punish the wicked, to see justice done?” Gabriel feels the stir of air against the fine hairs on his neck as Santos shakes his head in frustration. “The seven of you could have been such a fearful force. Between you, you have the power and the cunning to take anything you want as yours, yet you persist in playing protector, avenger. Pathetic!”_

_Gabriel trembles at this uncharacteristic outburst but remains resolutely silent. “Nothing to say to say to that, my dear? Hmph.” There is a rustle of movement behind the bound man then something coarse and strong is slipped over his head. “Well then, since you respect Mr. Chisholm and his morality so much, maybe you should be more like him in form as well as deed.”_

_It takes a moment for Gabriel’s drug-addled mind to recognize what exactly now encircles his neck. His eyes bulge, and he begins thrashing in earnest. A noose,_ un maldito lazo _! The one thing, after the bounty was placed, that he feared more than a bullet. No! He isn’t going to die like this, he is not!_

_A dark chuckle fills his ear as the rope slowly chews deeper and deeper into his flesh. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, Dios, not like this! “Ah-ah, Gabriel, why do you struggle so? I believe it was Charles Colton who said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Will your stalwart leader feel flattered when he sees exactly how much like him you are now? Or do you think he will turn you away, knowing the traitor you have become?”_

_The noose pulls taut, crushing, and the only answer Gabriel can give is a desperate, wheezing gasp before everything fades to a violent black …_

Gabriel wrenched himself free of sleep’s clawed hold with a hacking gasp, the grip of the noose still tightly wound around his neck, constricting his breath and voice. His fingers scrabbled at phantom rope for several futile moments before he woke enough to realize there was nothing there but the horror of the memory and a faint scar. His face was wet with terror and guilt, and he scrunched his eyes shut, curled his body in as close as the pain would allow, and tried to contain all the misery coursing through his blood in the grasp of the arms he wound tightly across his chest. 

A slight shift in the mattress behind him was his only warning before, “Are you okay?” his bed partner quietly asked. “That sounded pretty bad.” 

Gabriel chewed on his lip to suppress a groan. He should have known it would be too much to ask that Joshua would sleep through his nightmares, though he probably should be grateful that he hadn’t tried to touch him yet. He was too tired to deal with his brother’s overprotectiveness right now, and the dark emotions roiling in his soul had not vanished even with all the target practice yesterday. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of a black abyss, and he felt vicious enough to take someone down with him. 

“I’m fine, _güero_ ,” he rasped out shortly. 

“Are you sure?” There was a pause, long enough that Gabriel hoped that the other man had thought better of his inquiry; but then, Joshua continued slowly, almost as if the words were being pulled from a reluctant throat. “You know you can talk to me, right? Anything at all, I right here to listen –” 

“No, it’s fine,” Gabriel gritted out past clenched teeth. Why would this fool not take the hint and leave him alone? “I’m fine. Go back to sleep, Josh.” 

“I’m not sure I really want to do that at the moment,” the other man confessed. He rolled over onto his side to face Gabriel. “I haven’t been sleepin’ too well myself lately. So, if we’re both going to be up, maybe we can talk about what’s keepin’ us awake at night.” 

Gabriel couldn’t take it any longer. Whether deliberate or not, Josh’s continued questioning made what had fractured inside this morning break completely. “Leave it alone, Joshua!” he exploded. “I told you I did not wish to speak of it. Why can you not accept this? You do not need to know, and I do not wish to remember it.” 

“Gabe,” Josh protested in a soft, weary tone, pushing himself into a sitting position against the headboard. “I just want to help.” 

“Help?” Gabe hissed, pushed past the point of anger and well into fury. Fine, if the stubborn bastard wanted to know details, he could have some. “If you truly wanted to help me, _muchacho_ , you should have found me before Santos and Hakeswill took a whip to my back and feet or the Comanches decided to carve up my ribs with their knives. Or maybe before they strung me up by a noose just tight enough to make me almost pass out before letting me catch my breath and doing it all over again and again until I prayed for them to slip and just let me die! Definitely before they started putting poison into my body with every needle they poked me with. Or perhaps –” 

“Stop it,” Josh whispered brokenly, rolling out of the bed and slowly backing away from the furious man still in it. He flinched from each word as if they were bullets hitting his body. He’d wanted to know what memories plagued his brother, so he could try to help him, but not like this. Not with Gabe spitting at him with such vitriol and rubbing salt into the guilty wounds on his conscience. “Please, stop it.” 

A nasty caricature of a smile twisted Gabe’s lips. “Si, güero, those were my exact words. For. Six. Weeks.” 

A strangled sound clawed past Josh’s throat. Face drained of all color, making the dark circles under his eyes even darker, the gambler turned on his heel and stumbled through the bedroom door. The outlaw heard the front door slam, and Goodnight’s startled shout. He savored his savage victory for a handful of seconds, his breathing heavy with anger and grief, before the reality of what he had just said hit him. 

_Oh no, Dios Mio, ¿qué he hecho?_

Of anyone, Joshua was the last person who deserved such treatment. He had been nothing but a strong, constant support throughout his convalescence. He had been the one to give him anything and everything within his power to help him heal, and sometimes, he even managed to go beyond that. The darkness still boiled in his soul, but Joshua was not the one who should have borne the brunt of such rage. 

Gabriel could not do this without his brother at his side. 

“pleasecomebackididn’tmeanitdon’tleavemealonejoshuapleasecomeback…”


End file.
